Howling through Winter
by Odd-Wolf-Pen
Summary: Bran's last act before death was making a deal with the Old gods. What kind of deal, you may ask? A deal, for his family to begin again. But there is a catch, Bran is not a part of the deal. Not everyone can know what the future holds. AU and a 'Fix-it' fic I suppose.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings folks! This was something just lying around in my head and constantly bugging me and I finally relented and put it on paper (metaphorically). I don't promise consistent updating, I'm more of a go with the flow person rather than stressing over schedules. This is what I guess would be called a 'fix-it fic', you know a little time travel and some deep stuff. This is a Song of Ice and Fire fic so consider yourselves warned.**

 **Disclaimer: None of the characters or any recognizable stuff is mine.**

 **So without further ado,**

– **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Robb**

Nothing. That is what death was like. Whole lot of nothing. Floating around in endless darkness with only your thoughts for company. Torturous thoughts. Like watching some Frey or anther come behind his mother, my dear, precious mother, and cut her throat open. Watching another Frey stabbing at my wife's stomach, killing the little life inside. Feeling arrows pierce the skin. So much pain. So much blood. And then, Lord Bolton coming and putting a hand on my shoulder before the blade pierced my stomach.

 _The Lannisters send their regards._

The words haunt the images in my mind. It seems to echo throughout the darkness, again and again.

 _The Lannisters send their regards._

The blood pouring out of mother's throat. Her body slumping down in a heap on the floor.

 _The Lannisters send their regards._

Jeyne's screams as the knife stabs through the life of our baby.

 _The Lannisters send their regards._

Arrow after arrow. One in the shoulder, another in the back, the third in my chest.

 _The Lannisters send their regards._

Lord Bolton's face when he plunges the blade in my stomach and out my back.

 _The Lannisters send their regards._

Forever haunting me. Those damned words. That damned man. I shouldn't have trusted him. I'm weak, stupid, completely blind-sided. I should have seen it coming from a mile away. I'm a disappointment to the name of Stark. The men crowned me king and I lose the North. I'm worse than Thorren, the king who knelt. The Starks have ruled the North for thousands of years and what do I do? Let it be raided by Iron born, while I'm fighting for vengeance in the fucking south. I practically handed the North over to Bolton, why else would that wile bastard be in on such a plot. He managed something his ancestors have been striving for since the Winter Kings made the Red kings kneel. I should have known that old habits die hard. Especially those you are raised with.

Time is nothing in death. I could have been there for mere minutes or whole years, just watching the images on repeat, the words haunting every one of them. But at some point the loneliness lessened, if just a fraction. A tiny little sense of home lingered in the air. It made the images and the words a little easier to bear. Not much but it was still there.

Then came another change as such. The loneliness lessened a fraction, a scent of home, Winterfell. But the images changed. There were still the same but they were more diverse. Memories, some long forgotten, some newer, some cherished. Finally something good. But I was wrong. The more I saw the more I found that people were lying to me, straight to my face. It was so obvious that I couldn't understand how on earth I didn't see it then. The worst of them being the most persistent:

Prowling around the camp in a dream in the mind of Grey wind. Coming upon Jeyne and her mother fighting furiously in whispers. I couldn't hear what they were saying for the first few times. Bolton's words ringing too loud in my ears.

 _The Lannisters send their regards._

But as I started hearing more and more from them, I wish I hadn't. Because I knew it wasn't a dream, it was a memory.

" _Mother, please, allow me this one thing. I already married the brute, allow him to touch me every night."_

Jeyne's voice ringing about the empty darkness. A certain desperation in her voice that I have never heard before. Her words hurt me. Was that really what she thought of me? Or was she simply playing a part for her mother. She never did approve of me. That thought eased the ache somewhat.

" _Your marriage isn't secure unless you give him a squealing brat to call an heir. The northern lords are not happy with their king's decision. If you do not show soon they will start to pressure him to put you aside for someone who can, and we cannot allow that. Tywin Lannister will not allow it. Now throw away the tea and go back before he notices you missing."_

Tea? What tea? Have to show what soon? That is a memory from two days before she told me she was with child. Wait child? Tea? Moon tea?

" _Mother, please…"_

She was going to kill our child?

"… _allow him to touch me every night."_

She didn't love me? She was lying? All this time?

" _Tywin Lannister will not allow it."_

She was spying for Lannister? How much of a fool can I be?

"… _allow him to touch me every night."_

The desperation bringing a bitter sound to her beautiful voice. Her words sending thousands of knifes through my heart, ripping it in pieces from the inside. My eyes start to sting and I wonder if I can truly cry if I'm dead.

"… _allow him to touch me every night."_

Was I truly that wile? Did I not please her enough? Was I not kind or handsome enough? The tortuous thoughts returned with a renewed vigour. Where did I go wrong? Then it hit me. The flicker in Jeyne's eyes to her mother before she said the vows before the Heart tree. She never wanted to marry me. She was repulsed by me from the moment she heard my name. Her being from the south made her to be an excellent liar, putting up a different mask, depending on the circumstances.

Then that feeling came again. Less loneliness, scent of home, tiny little sense of peace. Then before I knew it all my life was passing before my eyes. It played so fast that I had a hard time keeping up but I saw things I never saw before. How much it truly hurt Jon to be ignored by my mother. How cruel Sansa was to Arya. How much we ignored Rickon and he acted out to get attention. How Bran always was a little bit more sullen when Theon mocked him after a bat shot.

Then just as suddenly as it had begun it stopped and I felt this sensation that I was being sucked through a very narrow tunnel. Falling, falling and more falling backwards in the darkness. No memories, no words echoing. Just me falling backwards and screaming silently in terror with no end in sight. Then a voice began to murmur something. A voice I had never heard before, a stern male voice. It got steadily louder but I couldn't quite make them out. A face flashed before my eyes. A grim face. A Stark face. He opened his mouth and spoke but only that voice seemed to be heard, growing louder still.

Suddenly I shot up from bed and to the floor, like a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown over me, screaming bloody murder and faintly hearing similar screams in the distance. I surveyed my surroundings warily, trying to pinpoint where I could be. The room that I saw seemed vaguely familiar, and the more I looked around, the more I panicked.

This was my room in Winterfell. I couldn't be here, this surely is some cruel joke the gods are playing. Theon burned Winterfell, burned my brothers. My breathing got more and more laboured as I heard rushed footsteps outside the door. My eyes darted around the room looking for a weapon but finding none before the door was slammed open. I swung around, facing my attackers and then promptly froze in my tracks.

"What is the matter, lord Robb?" Asked none other than Lord Greatjon Umber, surveying the room for potential threats, with his sword at the ready. I just stared, panic edging closer to the edges of my vision. My laboured breathes turned to gasps and the last thing I saw before being enveloped in darkness once again, was the Greatjon calling for me. What he said, I don't know, instead I heard the voice again, the words ringing clearly in my ears.

" _Lead your people, Young Wolf, trust your siblings. Winter is coming."_

* * *

 **Jon**

This is different from before. I suppose I'm dead now. For good. Damn Baratheon. The emptiness of death is a bit disturbing. There is nothing. Only darkness. Floating in this god forsaken place for who knows how long. Of course you can pay attention to the images of your life but I find that I don't care much for it. It only serves to make me miss my siblings more and then I regret never being able to see them again, to the point of physical pain. Death also seems to have a preference to show me my first murder. Over and over again. The words never ceasing to haunt me.

" _For the Watch."_

I wish I never left for the damned Wall.

" _For the Watch."_

It has brought me nothing but grief. Nothing but pain.

" _For the Watch."_

It seemed to go on for ever, chanting that damned phrase. Until it didn't. The chanting stopped. And with the blissful silence came a breeze. A familiar breeze, carrying scents from home. From Winterfell. But that moment didn't last long. More and more flashes of memories seemed to play, continuing in an endless loop. But the more I watched, the more I saw the hidden agenda behind everyone's eyes and it made me so angry that I didn't see it before. The Wall was not the Brotherhood it is made out to be, and that is a real shame.

There it was again. That odd sense of relief and peace settling itself around me like a blanket, protecting me from the cold. But like the cold can seep through the blanket, the pain, anger and grief seeped through the peace. I paid less attention to the memories now. I had enough of my pathetic life. Of course Death wasn't done with me and without warning after a third wave of the peacefulness, I was pulled backwards. I lost my breath and the pressure of the pull was closing in on me like a vice. Never in my life had I been so scared, even knowing that I'm dead did not help. Death kept pulling me, or was I falling? I had no idea what was up and what was down. A voice breached through my panic, echoing throughout the emptiness, the tone firm and foreboding, but soothing. The words were not distinguishable, no matter how I tried. Then out of nowhere a face appeared. A face like my own. Fierce and stern face. He was trying to tell me something. His lips moved but I only heard the other voice. No words just the tone, steadily getting louder.

I catapulted out of bed, screaming my lungs out. The cold air greeting me along with a room from my dreams. My childhood room. This was a definitely a cruel joke if there ever was one. The grey stone walls and the little bed, covered in furs. I started to breathe heavily, the walls closing in on me. I needed to get out. I barrelled out of my room and into the hallway. I stumbled and instantly turned around at the sound of a startled shriek.

A frightened serving girl stood there, clutching the sheets in her hands tightly. More hurried footsteps came down the hallway and the clacking of steel carried. Not long after three guards came into view, weapons at the ready, but that was not what surprised me. Jory Cassel stood there. In flesh. Or maybe it was an illusion. I was starting to shake uncontrollably and found that I had to support myself against the wall, not that it did much.

"Jon, are you alright?"

That is Jory, alright. A million questions came into mind. How? Why? Is my father here? Robb? Sansa? Arya? Bran? Rickon? Are they alright? Or is this a nightmare where I am forced to witness their deaths first-hand? My shaking increased as Jory slowly got closer, lowering his sword.

"Jon?"

I couldn't breathe. My lungs had stopped working. I started gasping for breath, trying to stand upright but my body was not cooperating. The panic wrapping itself around me, choking me, and rapidly causing me to pass out. The voice echoing in my head:

" _You hold the secret to victory. The lone wolf dies while the pack survives."_

* * *

 **Sansa**

I was hoping my torment would stop with death. It was my solace in the capitol, the Eyrie and then with Ramsay. When I die I won't hurt anymore. I was wrong. So wrong. The emptiness that is death brings so much loneliness and hopelessness that it physically hurts. Death was supposed to be merciful, a happy afterlife. But it is not. Far from it. Watching my father get his head cut of was on repeat. Joffrey's voice cutting through the silence, the darkness.

" _I will show him mercy."_

And my father's head rolls down the steps.

" _I will show him mercy."_

We walk up to the pikes. The heads rotting. Father, septa Mordane, Jory. So many unnecessary deaths, all because of my own stupidity and selfishness.

" _I will show him mercy."_

Lady. Poor Lady. I killed her to. I should have told the truth. Arya could maybe forgive me then.

" _I will show him mercy."_

Arya! Is she still alive? Or do the Lannisters have her to?

Why has the echo stopped? Does it have something to do with that smell? The wonderful smell of home, of Winterfell and freshly baked Lemon cakes. Oh, how I want to see Winterfell again, in its former glory. My home. Not the hollow castle Ramsay and Bolton turned it into. If I could get my hands on Bolton I would strangle him. How dare he? How dare he?! How dare he take away my mother and brother and then my home!

A memory flashes before my eyes. The Eyrie, snow falling and Petyr fucking Baelish. I don't want to hear what he is saying, not wanting anymore of his poison in my brain. Then he kisses me, and I see Aunt Lysa. The image changes to my almost fall out the Moon door. Watching this scene I can see that Littlefinger only wanted competition out of the way. He wanted the Eyrie, push Lysa out the Moon door and he is regent. He wanted mother, she got caught in the crossfire and I'm the next best thing. He wanted more power, sells me to the bastard, Ramsay.

There it comes again, that smell, and a relief of the loneliness, if only a little. I haven't felt so good in weeks, months even. I relish it, bask in the glow of home while it lasts. I doesn't last long, more images flash before my eyes. All of fucking Baelish. And this time I don't escape his voice.

" _There are two sorts of people, the players and the pieces"_

Why does Death insist on torturing me so? Have I not had enough of it in life?

" _Always keep your foes confused. If they are never certain who you are or what you want, they cannot know what you are like do next."_

Make him stop! I scream but no sound comes out. I try to block out the sound by putting my hands over my ears.

" _There is no justice in this world. Not unless we make it."_

What have I done to deserve this? I know I shouldn't have told the Queen about father, I know.

" _Chaos is not a pit. Chaos is a ladder."_

There it came again that smell, that sweet scent of home, cloaking me in its embrace.

" _Look around you. We are all liars here. And every one of us is better than you."_

As soon as the last word was uttered it was like I was pushed out the Moon door. I was falling. Fast. Darkness all around me, no images, no memories. Oh, how I wished to see Baelish right now. At least that just hurt, it wasn't scary like this. No, this isn't scary, this is terrifying. Completely and utterly terrifying. A silent scream escapes my lips as I hear a voice. A voice but no words. Is the voice talking to me? Or is it just there to make me another torturous session in a more creative way. The voice gets louder but I still can't distinguish any words and then right above me there appears a face. A face that I have never seen in my life but it is so familiar in so many ways. He moves his lips as if to say something but nothing comes out, only the other voice echoes through the space, piercing the darkness. Then it hits me, a Stark face, and I try in vain to hear what he is saying. If he is a Stark then it must be important, maybe a warning of some kind. But what could he possibly be waring me about, I'm dead.

A horrifying scream tears its way out of my throat and I open my eyes. The furs suffocating me and I fumble out of bed. Then crawling backwards until I hit the wall as I take in the room, still screaming. What kind of horrid hell is this? This looks like… this looks like my chamber back in Winterfell. I distantly hear similar screams to mine but my mind is too preoccupied with processing my rooms. All of a sudden the door is slammed open and it crashes into the wall, bringing out another terrified scream from my throat.

That scream is promptly cut off when my lungs refuse to offer more air at the sight that greets me. There standing with Ice drawn is father. Father looking alive and healthy, inspecting the room quickly for any intruders. Behind him stands a guard, also with a sword drawn and at the ready.

"Sansa, what is the matter."

His voice, it is exactly as I remember it. So soothing and full of love, and now concern.

"Father?" I manage to croak out, my throat raw from screaming and shakily getting to my feet with the help of the table by my side.

I was shaking so bad. I wanted this to be real, to really have father back, to get to hug him and argue with him, anything. I don't care if this is real or not, I have to tell him how sorry I am, how much I love him. I shakily walk over to him and hesitantly lay a hand on his cheek. Father having lowered Ice, at least out of direct offensive.

"You are alive."

I whisper astonished. I don't care if this is an illusion. I have to.

"Sansa?"

His eyes shine with worry, clearly alarmed by my whisper. I didn't think he would hear. But I have to. My shaking gets worse and tears start to flow down my cheeks. I can feel my vision blackening but I have to. I have to.

"I am sorry." I whimper as I collapse.

I vaguely register the clatter of a sword and being caught before hitting the floor. It is however, the voice that stays with me ringing in my ears:

" _You are a player, not a piece. Help your brother, for when you play the game of thrones, you either win or you die."_

* * *

 **Arya**

Death. Strange thing. I've always thought there was more to death than this. There must be a reason why people are so afraid of death. Perhaps it is the loss of freedom to do what you want. You don't do a lot of what you want here, or at least I don't. I would like to be anywhere else, right now. Watching some of my memories is too painful and other fill me with longing for simpler times, which only adds to the ever present loneliness and heat. I hate the heat. Death is supposed to be cold, if only to have a little thing from home.

I surprise myself that the thing I miss most is my mother, but father is close behind. I really regret giving mother so much grief and a hard time. I also miss Sansa, we shouldn't have parted the way we did and that is nagging on my conscience. Jon has always been my favourite brother but seeing Robb with Grey wind's head in place of his own brought back memories of father's execution. I wish Robb had not suffered such a fate. Nor Bran and Rickon. Sweet Bran and wild Rickon. How could that fucking turncloak do something like that? He grew up with us. Robb trusted him! We trusted him! At least Jon is just freezing at the Wall and safe.

A moment later the heat deflated and a cold winter breeze blew by. How I relished in it, images of snow wars and snow angels filling the empty darkness. But it wasn't long until the images turned dark again. It was times like these that it was hard to remember what Syrio taught me.

Nymeria running and the death of Lady. Sansa begging father to reconsider.

" _Please not Lady. Lady is good."_

Father kneeling while Illyn Payne raised Ice to take of his head. Again Sansa begging Joffrey for mercy.

" _Please, stop it! Mercy, please! Someone, stop it!"_

The Goldcloaks coming for Gendry and the cage burning.

" _Please, stop it! Mercy, please! Someone, stop it!"_

The Brotherhood without Banners not managing to kill the Hound.

" _Please, stop it! Mercy, please! Someone, stop it!"_

Tywin Lannister torturing the prisoners.

" _Please, stop it! Mercy, please! Someone, stop it!"_

Getting to the Twins. Seeing Robb being paraded around.

" _Please, stop it! Mercy, please! Someone, stop it!"_

Again that cold, delightful breeze, switching to more resent memories. The Faceless men. Becoming a No one was hard, but only because a rather big part of me didn't want to part with the identity of Arya Stark. The training itself wasn't hard. It helped me forget my suffering if only for the day. Then there was that blasted Girl. The Girl that was jealous of No one's interest in me. The Girl who managed to kill me. But I managed to learn what I could, wanted, before she did. Shame it didn't aid me in my revenge. Now the Direwolves will never run around the North again. Everyone is dead. My family, my pack, is dead. All because of those damned incestuous lions.

The breeze caresses my skin for the third time and then a memory I have not seen before come to the forefront. A single memory, a single lesson, I forgot. Syrio is holding my chin, staring into my eyes, telling me about the god of Death. Then he asks one simple question.

" _What do you say to the god of Death?"_

I know that but I cannot answer as I feel the alarming sensation that I am falling, and falling hard.

" _What do you say to the god of Death?"_

The words seem to echo in my head and I am still kept from answering by a voice, piercing the empty darkness. No words, just the male voice, steadily getting louder.

" _What do you say to the god of Death?"_

Everything is getting louder and louder, almost overbearing but I still hear the little whisper in my mind: _Not today._

" _What do you say to the god of Death?"_

I keep falling, the volume of the noises sending pain, rippling through my head. A face appears out of the darkness. A Stark face. The whisper is a little louder: _Not today._

" _What do you say to the god of Death?"_

The Stark moves his lips as if to say something but nothing comes out. The voice rippling through the darkness and Syrio's words echoing in my head.

" _What do you say to the god of Death?"_

" **Not today!"**

The Stark smiles, his harsh grey eyes turning to molten silver. That is the last thing I see before I shoot up in bed, howling in terror, distantly hearing other screams but not registering them in my own horror. My eyes quickly scan the room, both for exits and for weapons, and it startles me when I recognise the room as mine, in Winterfell. In a time where everything was as it should be. Hearing rushed footsteps coming my way I panic, throwing myself out if bed and to the full-sized mirror. A stray thought comes through my panicky haze of my mother saying, 'a lady should always know how she looks' when I complained about the mirror.

On my way to the mirror I grab the next thing that is remotely heavy, in this case a stool, and throw it at the mirror. It shatters but I don't care. I walk over to where a rather big piece of glass lays and grab it, not registering the sharp stings in my bare feet as I walk over the broken glass, my mind fully focusing on readying myself against my attackers. The glass cuts into my hand as I squeeze it tighter in anticipation and the blood rushes by my ears.

Before I know it, the door is swung open and two guards file into the room. I hesitate, seeing their emblem of a Stark Direwolf on the **i** r coats but what really makes stop is the woman that comes in after them. Her red hair brightening up the room and her clear blue eyes full of worry. What kind of a hell is this? Am I to watch my mother die before me also? Those were the first thoughts running through my mind but they left as quickly as they appeared when mother began to speak.

"Arya, what happened?"

Her voice so full of concern that it was overwhelming. My hand began to shake and the blood rushed from my head. I didn't care what hell this was. I just wanted to be enveloped in my mother's arms. I dropped the glass and barely held back a sob, my whole body trembling. As I took one step towards mother, my hand outstretched, I whimpered:

"Mother."

I fucking whimpered. I haven't done that in years but I didn't care, I just wanted my mother. As I took another step forwards I started feeling lightheaded, my eyes rolling to the back of my head and my body crashing to the glass covered floor. I vaguely heard mother scream and some male shouts but that was not what I found parading around in my head. Giving me the mother of all headaches. No it was the voice, the Stark's words:

" _Valar morghulis, little wolf, and Valar Dohaeris."_

* * *

 **I would love some reviews if you guys are up for it.**

 **\- Until next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Greetings folks! Hope you've had a nice day and that I won't drag you down to depression with this chapter.**

– **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Eddard**

The blissful peace of the early morning. Sometimes I wish it could last the whole day. I really don't want to go to a meeting with the other lords this morning. Lords Bolton, Karstark, Umber, Glover, Manderly and Lady Mormont are all staying in Winterfell to go over our stores for winter. With summer lasting so long the northern lords have become quite restless over it not being enough food for a long winter, and I'm inclined to agree. Southerners would no doubt call us paranoid but what do they know about winter.

The warmth of my lovely wife's naked body sprawled over mine and the quiet of the castle makes a small smile of contentment creep onto my lips. Even though the peace is comforting, I have this unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is going to happen. A small sigh escaped Cat's lips, fanning over my bare chest, as her hand slowly moves south. Caressing lightly over my muscles of my abdomen and I can feel myself hardening. My small smile turns into a predatory grin as a more primal need takes over me. I grab her hand and flip her onto her back, pinning her to the bed.

"Morning, wife." I growl at her and lightly nip at her bottom lip.

"Morning, husband. Facing a little problem, I see." She answers coyly and rubs her hips suggestively against my hardness. "Perhaps, I could be of service?" She adds. I grunt and attack her with a ferocious kiss, already moving her legs apart to accommodate my swift entering.

Piercing screams of terror cut through the peaceful silence and sexual haze causing both me and Cat to freeze as we are. My blood runs cold. Those are the screams of our children. Before I fully register the thought, I'm already halfway out the door, struggling to put on breeches but managing it and running down the hallway, Ice in hand. My bare feet slapping against the heated floor and my heart hammering in my chest. The screams don't stop and the pure terror it portrays, causes me to break out in cold sweat and pushing to run faster.

As I turn down the hallway to Sansa's chamber, a guard falls into step with me. No doubt having heard the screams to. I wonder if all of Wintertown have heard them. As we get to Sansa's door, we don't stop. I simply hurl myself at the door and barrel inside, ready to cut down anyone who dares harm my daughter. All I'm faced with is an ear piercing scream from Sansa, that is cut of abruptly, and an empty chamber.

At first I don't see her and a slight panic creeps towards me but then I spot her, huddling up against the wall. I breathe a silent sigh of relief and lower my sword, but am still on high alert. I focus on my daughter and am instantly alarmed by how sickly she looks. As pale as a ghost, or as if she saw one, and a fine sheen of sweat glistening against her skin, not to mention the way her body is trembling.

"Sansa, what is the matter?"

Not the most intelligent question, I admit, but what else could I ask?

"Father?"

I inwardly cringe at the way her voice breaks. It also brings me a great apprehension the way her eyes showcase disbelief and wonder. Her trembling is only highlighted when she has to use the table as support to stand up. I stand completely still as she shakily stumbles over to me, hesitantly laying a hand on my cheek.

"You are alive."

The whisper was so low that I question if I even heard it. Why wouldn't I be alive? This was getting more and more alarming by the minute. My heart broke just a little more as tears started to run down her cheeks. I was lost at what to do. My little girl was hurting and I didn't know what to do.

"I am sorry."

It was whimpered but I barely registered it as I watched her begin to fall. I threw down Ice and rushed to catch her.

"Sansa! Sansa?! Sansa, can you hear me?!"

Now I was truly panicking. She wasn't responding. What was she sorry for? It didn't make sense. What happened? I cradled her carefully in my arms, not even thinking about covering her as she was just wearing her nightshift. I had to get her to Maester Luwin, now. I stood up from the floor and bypassed the guard, who was looking rather pale.

"Inform my wife."

Was all I could muster before I all but ran down the hallway on my mission on getting my daughter to the Maester' tower. I could barely think straight, thousands of thoughts running around in my mind with no apparent structure. Then a thought stuck with me. What about the other screams? Were that my children to? The thought only serving to fill me with more dread.

On the crossroads of two hallways I met with the sight of a thoroughly dishevelled Lord Bolton and Lady Mormont, both brandishing weapons in their night attire. I would have laughed if it were any other situation but at the moment the only thought in the forefront of my mind was to keep my children safe. When they saw me running past them they both had similar expression of disbelief, or as much as Bolton could. I distantly heard, over the blood thundering in my ears, them running in step with me. No doubt equally out of curiosity and for my protection.

I allowed myself to let out the breath I was holding when the door to the Maester's rooms came into view and Lord Bolton managed to bypass me and opened the door so that I didn't need to slow down unnecessarily. Maester Luwin was startled from his task by my entering. His eyes widened when he saw the limp body of my daughter in my arms and hurriedly gestured to one of the cots in the room. I laid her gently down and stroked the hair out of her face. Her face was still pale and her breathing was barely distinguishable.

"My lord, perhaps you could wait outside?"

Maester Luwin's voice broke through my worry and I nodded numbly. I stood and walked out the door to join Lady Mormont, followed by Lord Bolton, who closed the door. I sag against the wall behind me and heave out a sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. I feel a hand on my bare shoulder and my lack of clothing only registers then, not that I can find it in me to be ashamed of it now. I look up from my hands into the pitying face of Lady Mormont. I can't hold her gaze for long so I retreat back behind my hands, sagging to the ground. We stand there for some time, me sitting against the wall, in a disturbingly heavy silence until we heard few heavy footsteps. I refused to look up, I didn't have it in me to face the guards. I didn't want to be a lord right now. Lady Mormont's gasped question changed my mind.

"My lord?"

I looked up only to be faced with a sight that has my heart abandoning my head for my stomach. There was Robb, my eldest son, being half held up, half dragged by Lord Umber and Lord Glover. His usually curly hair falling limp down his unconscious head. His pallor deathly pale, making few scars stand out even more, and no sign of life in his body. I just sat there gaping like a fish, no doubt the horror and dread I was feeling was plastered over my face. Lord Umber shoots me an apologetic glance before hoisting Robb in to the Maester with the help of Lord Glover. Not long after they join us back outside in the hallway but I just stare at the door.

This is not happening. This is not happening. _This is not happening!_ I repeat the mantra in my head. It cannot be happening. I cannot be losing two of my children. By the gods, how will Cat take this? I can only imagine the utter devastation on her face. No, Cannot think this way. Maester Luwin can help them. He can save them. I was brought out of my panic by another disturbing sight. Does this hell never end?

Coming down the hall were Jory Cassel and Lord Manderly, holding up Jon in the very same fashion that Lord Umber and Glover held Robb. Jon was not much better off than Robb was, Jon even looked worse if anything. By the gods, old and new. Lyanna, I have failed you. I didn't know I was shaking until I stretched out my hand to touch him. I froze and stared at my hand, the trembling didn't ease, and I slowly retract my hand. Jory and Lord Manderly hoisted Jon into the Maester's rooms, then joining our little party outside the door. I couldn't sit still, my leg was bobbing up and down, I was rocking back and forward, my hands went through my hair. The shock had come and gone and stress and intense worry, the like I have never felt before, had took its place.

The lords, and lady, clearly were not going to leave as they had gotten themselves quite comfortable in the hallway. Lord Umber sat beside me, Lady Mormont leant against the wall opposite us while Lord Glover sat on the other side of the door and took out his sword, intending to clean it. Lord Manderly took it upon himself to pace along the hallway. To my surprise Lord Bolton stayed with us too. All of us were in various state of undress but considering the time of morning the screams were heard, I cannot say that it is strange. Jory had ran down the hallway and not to long after, many maids and servants were coming and going, carrying water, linens or wood for the fire.

The silence was suffocating me. I have to know what is happening to my children, to my nephew, m blood. The suspense was only serving to make my mind replay the events of the morning, the screams echoing in my head, four terrible, heart wrenching screams of horror. What could have possibly caused them to scream like that and then promptly pass out, or look so sickly? No, I have to believe Maester Luwin can help them. I try to focus on something else, anything else. The footsteps around me. Those are pretty light, must be a young girl, and those are heavier but not really heavy, I would say a young man or a woman. It is working until we hear another scream from inside the Maester's rooms. Sansa's screams.

"Please, stop it! Mercy, please! Someone, stop it! Father!"

We all blanch at the screams, even Lord Bolton looked disturbed. I jump to my feet, my heart in my throat, and intend to rush in and stop whatever it is that is bothering my little girl, but I get stopped. Lords Umber and Glover hold me back while I thrash around trying and failing to get lose. I failed. I failed my children. I promised to never let anything happen to them and now it looks like I'm going to lose two of mine and Lyanna's only son. Sansa's screams bring back the screams of the morning. The screams I've in vain been trying to forget. The four horror filled screams. Wait, four? Oh, by the gods no! I trash more wildly and no doubt resemble a caged wolf, when I hear a voice that stops me in my tracks.

"Ned?"

The sweet sound of her voice tainted with bitter concern and sorrow. It is then I hear the quick heavy footsteps that accompany her own. I am scared of what I'll see if I look but I do. I wish I hadn't. The blood rushes from my head and I swear, my heart stops beating. My little, wild she-wolf lays limp in the arms of Lord Karstark, covered in blood and scratches. My mind goes numb, not a coherent thought crosses my mind, only the image of my lifeless children being rushed to the Maester, flash on replay.

I vaguely hear Cat call my name but I can't will myself to answer, can't will my body to take her in my arms when Lady Mormont confirms her fears. I'm numb, far past shock, far past emotion. Everything is hazy, colours blurring together, hearing voices from a far but not making out any words. I just stand and stare into nothing, completely motionless. I don't feel when my hand is being tugged at to follow. I don't feel the heavy fur cloak being put around my shoulders. I don't feel myself being gently pushed down into a chair or when a cup of wine is handed to me. I am numb. Numb by grief.

* * *

 **Catelyn**

It was unsettling, watching Ned so motionless, so unaware of the things around him. It only increased my worry, not only was it possible that I would lose my eldest children but also my husband. The thought brought a fresh wave of grief crashing over me. When we heard the screams the first time, my heart stopped. I recognized my children's voices, even if they were screaming their lungs out in terror. Ned didn't waste time getting fully clothed, instead just barely putting on breeches and grabbing Ice then bolting out the door. I didn't waste much time either, I just put on my shift and a thick robe over before running out the door.

Ned had went right, in the direction of Sansa's chambers so I took a left, to Arya's chambers. I met up with two guards just outside and they insisted to go inside first. I was in the mind of telling them to fuck of, that was my child in there. Then were heard a crash and glass breaking. The guards immediately ripped open the door and filed into the room. Where they expected an attacker, there was none. Only my little girl, standing in her nightshift in the middle of a sea of broken glass, clearly from the mirror behind her. She was clutching a rather big piece in her hand and the look in her eyes made me stop cold. They were lifeless. Completely lifeless, then like a switch, recognition shone through her eyes.

"Mother?"

Her voice broke my heart. She sounded so lost, so hopeful and so disbelieving, like she couldn't believe it was me, her own mother, standing before her. Then she took a step towards me and dropped the glass. It sent a strange mixture of emotions through me, cringing worry and elation. Cringing worry because she was walking barefoot on broken glass and elation that Arya wanted me to comfort her after whatever bad dream or unsuccessful attempt on her life. That was until she took another step and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. I let out a scream when she started falling into the broken glass, one of the guards holding me back from running over to her on my bare feet while the other crossed the room. My scream had attracted more guards and to my surprise, Lord Karstark. He took one look over the scene, then crossed the room in three steps and scooping up my little girl.

"Where is the Maester's Tower?" He asked.

I tore myself from the guard and motioned Lord Karstark to follow me, not before ordering the glass to be cleaned up. I hurried over the hot stone, hallway after hallway, Lord Karstark never more than a step behind. By the Seven, since when has the route to the Maester been so long. My frantic thoughts scattered around in my brain. Maids, servants and guards stepped out of our way, some even stopping to gasp in horror at the state of my daughter. We finally were about to pass the last corner when we heard another ear-splitting scream, only now it was worse. I could hear words now.

"Please, stop it! Mercy, please! Someone, stop it! Father!"

My heart leaped to my throat when I recognized Sansa's voice. I rushed past the corner, thinking the worst, only to see my husband, my calm and quiet husband, trashing around like a caged animal but Lords Umber and Glover expertly hold him back, even if it is with a little difficulty. What is happening?

"Ned?" I called worried as I half ran down the hall.

He stopped immediately and hesitantly looked in my direction. But it is not me that he saw, no it is Arya. Arya laying limp and bloody. I could see the light leaving Ned's eyes and him simply standing there. He just stood there, I didn't understand how he could do that until Lady Mormont told me about Robb, Sansa and the bastard. Jon, not the bastard. I cannot think about him like that, not after seeing Ned so completely destroyed. He took Jon's condition as hard as his own children and as hard as that is I cannot fault him for caring for his son.

Jory came a little while later, asking if we wouldn't want to wait somewhere more comfortable. I tugged at Ned's hand for him to follow and he aimlessly did, not making any indication that he was aware of anything. We came into a little living area, there was a fireplace and two big chairs by it, covered in plush, comfortable fur. A medium sized table was also there and big heavy chairs around it. I had led Ned over to one of the chairs by the fireplace and put the fur cloak around him, which I had been given from one of the maids. I also gave him a glass of wine, which remains untouched as he just sits there and stares into nothingness. I myself took the other cloak and the other chair by the fireplace. I furiously stitched embroidery into a cloth, trying to keep my mind busy so that it wouldn't succumb to grief like Ned. Not when there was still hope, not when sweet little Rickon still needed me, us.

The other Lords, and Lady, had all come with us and took their places by the table, or standing in Lord Karstark's case, with a goblet of wine. We waited in relative silence until well after noon, when Rickon got tired of the household staff and wanted to stay with us. In that time the lords each took their eave for a short amount of time, getting presentable and finding something to do in the meantime. Be it a book or a text to read or some work around their own domains or even preparations for the meeting they originally were here for. It did surprise me that they all stayed and waited with Ned and I, even Lord Bolton. I really appreciated it. It was a true show of loyalty that you can only fin here in the North. I cannot imagine any of my father's bannermen waiting with him if Edmure got sick.

Rickon came after the noon meal, wanting to know where his siblings were. Rickon was luckily easily distracted. It wasn't long before he was playing in front of the fireplace with his wooden wolves. Ned hadn't moved, but his eyes had regained a little life after Rickon came and started playing in front of him. I was going through house sigils like a woman possessed. I began embroidering the Stark Direwolf, but then thought that it reminded me too much of the situation at hand. Then I did the Tully Trout, but again it just reminded me of Sansa and Robb, they took the Tully colouring. I did the Arryn Falcon and I found that going further south would only serve to remind me of the past better left in the past. I then started to go through the Northern houses, Umber's Giant, Manderly's Merman, Glower's Mailed fist. I even started on Bolton's Flayed man and I found it quite a displeasing distraction, but a distraction none the less. I was half way through the Greyjoy Kraken, also wondering where Theon was, when the door opened once again. Everyone looked up, save Ned like all the other times, hoping to be greeted by Maester Luwin with some news. As luck would have it, there he was. He stepped into the room with a troubled expression on his face and I immediately thought of the worst. I grabbed Ned's hand and held it tightly, finally snapping him out of whatever haze he had been in all day, since he looked up at the old Maester quizzically. This is not happening. Please. Not my children, I beg of you. Mother, please hear my prayers, don't let Stranger take my children.

"Are Robb and Jon going to come and play with me now? They promised they would."

Rickon's innocent question brings the Maester out of his thought and clear his throat.

"My lords, my ladies." Maester Luwin hesitated, like he didn't know how or even want to continue.

"Maester, how about you just take one at a time." Ned speaks up, for the first time since this morning.

"Yes, of course my lord. Umh… where to start… yes… umm… Robb. Young master Robb is having a… unforeseen… reaction to a mixture of Dreamshade and Milk of the poppy. I did not know of this until too late, for this has never been a problem the few times before that he had to take the mixture."

I sucked in a sharp breath at his mention of 'too late'. It cannot be. My strong, handsome boy. He cannot be dead.

"My lady, young Robb is not dead. At least not yet." The Maester is quick to reassure me.

"What do you mean with 'not yet'?" Ned asked sharply and narrowed his eyes at the Maester.

"Like I said, he had an unforeseen reaction to the mixture and therefore it caused him to fall into a deep sleep that would eventually have put him to death if not being stopped. I managed to stop it from spreading but I'm not certain if it was in time because young Robb is still in deep sleep. If he will not wake in the next three days, I am afraid he will not be waking up at all." Maester Luwin explained gravelly.

Nobody dared to speak. Even 8 year old Rickon seemed to grasp the severity of the situation as he sat there wide eyed on the floor. Ned swallowed heavily and gestured for the Maester to continue. I tightened my grip on Ned's hand and waited with baited breath.

"The Lady Sansa had already woken up from her dizzy spell but quickly succumbed to sleep. She was incoherent so I couldn't get any answers from her regarding what happened. She has been suffering nightmares, hence why you heard her screaming after she came to my care, and from what I heard her muttering since then I'd rather not know what about."

The last part served to send a feeling of dread through me. My sweet Sansa was suffering. Suffering from horrible physiologic torture in the form of nightmares.

"I've not been able to give her anything that has reduced the nightmares. If anything they only seem to increase. I couldn't wake her up either." Maester Luwin says in a sombre voice, clearly worrying about his young charges.

"What is she saying, Maester?" the quiet voice of my husband breaks through the silence.

Maester Luwin hesitates, clearly not wanting to report my daughter's terrors.

"Luwin." Ned demanded in a low voice.

Maester Luwin hesitated again but relented with a sigh.

"'Maybe my brother will bring me your head', 'My father was a traitor, as is my mother and brother. Please I had nothing to do with it. Please Your Grace.', 'Mercy, I beg of you!', 'You are a monster'. That is most of it, My Lord."

The Lords had disturbed expressions on their faces and I saw that Ned really regretted asking. There was a long silence but the Maester eventually continued.

"Young Jon has developed a fever over the course of today and for some reason he does not have as much blood in his system as a normal boy his age. In fact it is like he has been leeched well beyond what is healthy."

"Will he live?" I hated the break in Ned's voice. He always had a soft spot for that bastard.

"That all depends on if the fever breaks, My Lord." Maester Luwin says sympathetically.

"And Arya?" I was almost afraid of the answer. My Robb was near his death, unclear if he will be able to come back from it. My sweet Sansa suffering from the Seven knows what to get her to beg for mercy and reprieve from her tormentors. Even Jon was on the brink of death. And Arya fell on broken glass, I cannot lose all of my children. Rickon would be all alone.

"Young Lady Arya would have come out of this ordeal with the best chance of survival if she had not fallen on the glass. The glass shards managed to cut an unfortunate lot of her skin and she lost a lot of blood. She will have a lot of scarring because most of the cuts were rather deep. But I am in the belief that if none of the wounds will fester then she will wake up by the end of the week, My Lady." Maester Luwin says trying to brighten up the atmosphere.

A sense of relief washed over me but I still could not let go of my worry. There was a good chance that my children could live, but then again there is also a good chance that they won't. I looked at Rickon and saw an adorably confused expression marring his childish Stark features.

"Will Robb and Jon not be playing with me today?"

The innocent question brought tears to my eyes. There is a change they will never play again. Before my thoughts could take on a darker turn the Maester answered the question.

"I am afraid not little lordling, at least not until next week. But to another matter I would like to discuss with you my Lord and Lady, in private."

The last part was directed at me and Ned and the Lords, that up until now had been quiet, began to pack their things. They offered us their condolences and whished our children a quick recovery before departing with the promise of the meeting being postponed only a few days. Septa Mordain came in and collected Rickon and I made him swear not to do anything dangerous. I don't think I can take all of my children visiting the Maester in the same day.

When the door closed after the last man, the Maester turned to us with a grave look on his face, only serving to put me on edge again.

"I apologize My Lord, My Lady, but I thought it better for this to be kept between us."

"What is it Maester?" I could hear the tremor in Ned's voice, he was just as apprehensive as I was.

"When I was checking for symptoms on what could possibly be ailing your children I came upon a few scars."

"Scars?" I asked. What did he mean by 'scars'? I know both Robb and Jon have plenty of light scars from their time in the practice yard and Arya from her many adventures throughout the years of escaping the septa. What could possibly be alarming about them? Not to mention he knew of all of them, he wrapped them.

"Yes, scars. Scars that I have never seen before. Scars that I have never wrapped."

He let it hang in the air. What has been happening under our noses? I am not sure a want to know.

"What kind of scars?" It seemed that Ned wanted to. The Maester took a deep breath before completely destroying my perfect little world.

"Jon has no less than nineteen scars on his abdomen that could only be stab wounds after a hunting knife. Robb has six scars on his chest and shoulders that look suspiciously like arrows piercing all the way through. He also has a wide horizontal scar on his stomach and a matching one on his back. This kind of scar is usually lethal and can only be caused by a bastard sword or a great sword. Arya has a most worrying scar across her neck like someone had slit her throat. She also has a few less disturbing scars across the stomach, back and down her legs but they are mostly just slashes with a variety of weapons. Sansa on the other hand has up to thirty slashes across her back that can be after no other than a whip, and those scars are not very well healed either as they are more transparent than any of the other scars amongst them."

There was a tense silence. Very heavy and it took all I had not to let go of the thread that was holding me from the pit of despair. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Ned was no better and his face had gone paler than a ghost.

* * *

 **Here it is. Hope you like it. I know for a fact that I love your reviews! (Truly, I appreciate it ;))**

 **Anyway,**

– **Until next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Greetings folks! Thank you for all the follows and the favorits, they warm my heart. And of course thank you for the reviews, they are a fantastic motivator. Anyway, here is next chapter:**

 **\- Enjoy!**

 **Arya**

There was pain, all over. Nothing I couldn't bear. It was more of an incredibly uncomfortable a burning sensation that stung, like when salt is strewed in your bleeding wounds. I settled to listen to my surroundings, it was rather peaceful. Not too loud and not to quiet. There was an occasional clicking of glasses and a creak of a chair, like someone couldn't sit still. The smell was familiar. It smelled of grasses, salve and… was that blood? This resembles Maester Luwin's room. I should know, I've been there enough for one thing or another.

I pry my eyes open with much difficulty and survey the room as much as I can without moving my head. Yes, definitely Maester Luwin's rooms. I suppose I'm still in that dream of Winterfell. Wait, can you feel pain in your dreams? I cast my eyes to the creak and am greeted by the sight of my mother sitting in a chair between two beds on the opposite end of the small room.

"Mother?" I winced at the croak my voice had become.

My mother's head snapped up and she let out a cry of joy when she saw me. She jumped from her chair, dropping her needlework on the floor and practically running over to my side. I've never seen my mother acting so unladylike.

"My baby. You are awake. You are alive. You'll be alright. Everything is going to be alright."

Mother was saying, tears running down her cheeks and she was stroking my hair, cheeks and arms. She also kissed my forehead and I've never been more confused in my life. I was alive? Like alive, alive. Back in Winterfell, alive? What is going on?

"What happened?" I croak out. My throat drier than a Dornish desert.

"Here drink this, sweetheart. It will help your throat." Mother says and holds up a cup of water and some kind of medicine. She holds the back of my head and helps me drink the whole cup. Mother then fills the cup with water again and helps me down that too. When she puts the cup on the table beside my bed, she sits back and folds her hands on her lap. Then she fixes me with the stare and I just know…

"Now don't you ever, ever scare me like that again. Do you hear me? Never."

I half expected her to point her finger in my face but then again, that is not ladylike. I just nodded mutely while soaking in my mother's scolding. It was something that I greatly missed on the run, even more so in Braavos. I never thought I would but I came to long for my mother's scolding and my fights with Sansa over something as simple as a dress. Robb's extremely bad jokes and Jon's sullen and serious manner. Not to mention Bran's poor at best archery skills and Rickon's wild and wilful nature.

Mother's eyes softened and she reached out a hand and cupped my cheek, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"I was so scared, I thought I was going to lose you all. I would only have my darling Rickon left. You, Robb and Sansa gave your father and me quite a scare. Even Jon collapsed."

Her nose wrinkled a little at the end but I paid it no mind. What was she talking about? She turned her head to the chair she had occupied and I raised my head as I could to see better. And there they were. My older brothers, in separate cots, looking just as I remember them from before the king's visit. Even if they were a little pale. I couldn't help it, a large smile spread across my face. I turned to the cot on my right and saw Sansa's red hair fanned over her pillow. My smile grew larger, I had my family back! Then my mind caught up with me.

"Where is Bran?" Mother mentioned Rickon not Bran.

"Who is Bran?" My mother looked at me quizzically.

My smile slid from my face. She wasn't serious, was she? She cannot have forgotten her favourite child. Not that anyone held it against her or that she would have ever admitted it but Bran was still her favourite.

"He is Arya's imaginary friend, Mother." Both Mother and I looked to our right and saw Sansa sitting up against her pillow in her cot.

"Sansa, dear. How was your rest? Are you thirsty? Hungry?" Mother smiled at Sansa while I was trying to get out of bed to hug her.

"Arya, stay still! You are not getting out of bed anytime soon. You got cut up pretty badly when you fell on all that glass." Mother exclaims as she tries to gently tug me back in bed.

"But–" I try but I get cut off by Sansa.

"Good gods, Arya. Try to do something Mother says for once." I was surprised by her bratty tone, the same one she used with Jeyne Poole to make fun of me. My head whipped to her in betrayal. I thought she knew. She covered for Bran. I was going to shoot back a retort in hurt but the look in her eyes stopped me. She gave me a mixture of a 'I-know-all-your-secrets' look, that she never had before, and a 'Don't-you-dare-say-a-word' look that almost had me blanching. I imagine many would blanch under the many gazes my sister seemed to have mastered but not me. I stare Faceless men in the eye, I stare Death in the eye. Not today.

"Please, Arya. Settle down. I will go and get your father and some food. Now, you two, behave." Mother fixes us with one last stare before departing. It is like all pretence flies out the window. Sansa jumps out of bed and tackles me in a fierce hug, lifting me of the bed.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You were right about Joffrey. You were right about everything. I should have listened to you. It was all my fault. I'm sorry." Sansa sobbed into my shoulder, holding me tight and tears running down her face.

I was stunned to tears. Here was my sister, the one I have been longing for, for the better part of two years, hugging me and admitting I was right. All I ever wanted was being reunited with my family and after the Twins and Theon, I thought that Sansa and Jon were the only ones left. And now Sansa is here with me, in Winterfell, and Robb and Jon were across the room, still alive. Rickon is running around somewhere, father is doing his duties and mother is worrying over us. The only thing missing was Bran climbing the walls.

We sat there, crying and hugging, for quite a while. When Sansa calmed down, she relinquish her hold on me and helped me lie back down. My body ached with that stinging sensation but I easily ignored it, instead watching Sansa as she dabbed at her face, trying to erase all signs of distress.

"Sansa, where is Bran?"

A sad expression crossed Sansa's face and she folded her hands in her lap, much like mother had done mere minutes before.

"I don't know how but Bran is not here." That only served to confuse me further.

"How? What do you mean? Did he die or something?"

"No. I mean that he has never existed. The last known Brandon Stark was Uncle Brandon, the Wild Wolf." Sansa explained calmly.

"What happened? Why are we here?" The questions just seemed to spill forward.

"I've been awake for two days but Maester Luwin still wants me here to be certain nothing permanent happened. I've tried to get as much information that I could and I have to tell you, it gets stranger with each bit of information. Neither mother nor father know anything, let alone anyone else. Rickon even visited me and I asked him how old he was. He answered eight. Eight! When we left for the capital he was just turning six." Sansa said expatriated and threw her hands in the air.

"Do you think that we are the only ones that know?"

We were disturbed from further conversation by a groan of pain from the other side of the room.

* * *

 **Robb**

My head was pounding. Like a thousand new-born babies screaming at the top of their lungs along with a war-hammer banging against my skull from the inside. A groan of pain escapes my lips and I try to bring a hand to my head but find it too heavy. I hear a muffled shuffle of feet and some familiar voices that I can't quite place. I felt the bed dip at my side before a cool hand strokes over my forehead. My eyes flutter open, squinting against the light, and my vision fills with red hair.

"Robb?"

The voice is familiar. Like a memory from a long time ago, just like the hair. It is brighter red that mine or mother's. Wait a second…

"Sansa?" I rasp, opening my eyes fully to see my captive sister sitting by my bed, looking just like the last time I saw her.

"Robb, what do you remember?"

"I remember… Greatjon Umber bursting into my room… and… falling." I saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. I sat up and looked around the room. I saw Arya looking worse for wear, bandaged and lying in a cot opposite me and Jon in the cot beside mine. It was too good to be true, seeing the siblings I haven't seen in over a year. But there is something missing.

"Where are Bran and Rickon?" I ask and before I could react, I was engulfed in a hug with my face full of red hair that was not my own. Sansa was crying into my chest and mumbling something I couldn't quite catch. I looked over to Arya and saw her watching us with a soft smile on her face. It kind of unnerved me, I had never seen such an expression on Arya's face before. Sure a full blown smile, a smug smile, a pleased smile, a toothy smile but not a soft smile. She caught my eyes and grinned.

"Been a long time, brother."

Now I was even more confused. They knew? Is this not a dream?

"What the fuck happened?!"

The last question was voiced out loud and startled Sansa. She drew back and looked at me through puffy eyes.

"We do not know, but somehow we have travelled back in time." Sansa said.

"We?"

"You, Sansa and me." It was Arya that answered this time but we were interrupted by our mother.

"'You Sansa, and I' Arya. Not 'You, Sansa and me'." Mother chided half-heartedly. We all looked to the door where mother stood along with father and a servant with a trey of food.

"Now what about you, Sansa and Robb?" Father asked with small smile playing on his lips. They both came into the room and sat on the two chairs that were between mine and Jon's cot and Arya's and presumable Sansa's empty one. Both Sansa and Arya exchanged a quick panicked look before Sansa put on a smile for father.

"Robb, Arya and I have woken up." She said sweetly.

"Yes you have." Father said fondly, kissing her forehead and stroked Arya's hair.

"Now, since you have woken up. You better not scare us like that again!" Mother's tone was enough to make me flinch.

"Cat, easy now." Father tried to placate her before turning to me.

"Do you remember what happened, Robb?" I panicked. Everything has been so confusing, how much did they know? I looked over to Sansa and she discreetly shook her head.

"I… I don't… I mean… there was Lord Umber?" it came out more like a question than anything else.

"And before that?" I just shook my head negative, hoping they would let it go.

"Anything else you would like to tell us? Anything at all?" Father fixed us all with a stare like he knew we were hiding something.

"What do you mean?" asks Arya before coughing.

Mother immediately jumped into action and father also diverted his attention to his younger daughter's health.

Sansa took the opportunity and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"We will talk later tonight, then we can hopefully make some kind of plan."

And that was how the rest of the day went. Mother and father fussing over us while discreetly trying to get some answers for I don't know what. We all just played stupid about anything previous to waking up. Eventually Maester Luwin got them to let us rest.

He declared Sansa in full health but wanted to keep her under close watch for the night. Arya's bandages got changed and I saw a disturbing scar across her throat, silently reminding myself to ask her about it later.

When Maester Luwin came to check on me, I saw all my scars from the War of the Five Kings and finally understood what mother and father were trying to figure out. Maester Luwin must have informed them of the unusual scarring on their son. Finally he checked Jon's vitals and mercifully left the room.

* * *

 **Sansa**

No body moved for ten whole minutes after Maester Luwin closed the door. Only then did I get out of bed a light a candle. Robb came over and sat on Arya's cot, putting pillows behind her so she could sit more easily, while I brought the candle over to the table between our cots. Then we just sat there for a while, staring at each other, soaking up each other's presence. No one knew where or how to begin, it had been so long since we saw each other or interacted. We were different people. We had grown up trough pain and trials alone, how would we cooperate together.

"Will Jon also know?" Arya's quiet tone breaks us out of our trance and we all look over to our brother. He was sleeping peacefully, albeit a little paler than I remember.

"I do not know." I said sadly.

"How will we be sure?" she asks again.

"I do not know." Robb echoes my earlier response, shaking his head as if trying to get some unwanted thoughts out.

I sigh, everything is so confusing. I have been trying to get information as discreetly as possible for the last few days and the thought of everything that needs to be done is just giving me a headache. A soft moan tears me from my musings and I stand up quickly, following Robb over to Jon's side. We stare at him with baited breath and Jon's eyes flutter open. Jon just stares at us with wide eyes, opening and closing his mouth before finally stuttering out;

"Robb? Sansa?"

We don't say anything, we just wait not knowing what to do. Then Arya's voice pierces the heavy silence.

"Nymeria."

The one name confused myself and Robb making us both look at her with questioning eyes. The look in her eyes was urgent like she was begging us to understand. Robb and I shared a confused glance before realization struck and we turn to a very confused Jon;

"Grey Wind"

"Lady"

"And what do our Direwolves got to do with anything?" He asks and I give a cry of joy and throw myself at him, Robb not far behind. After the final episode of the emotional reunion, Jon sat by me on my bed, across from Robb and we brought him in on the situation at hand. The question of what we should do came up which of course was promptly answered by Arya;

"Fight. We are Starks of Winterfell and no one will take that from us."

I was inclined to agree but then came the part of plotting, how to do what we wanted to do?

"The North is not as stable as father would like us to believe." I say thoughtfully.

"Indeed. If we are to survive the coming years we will have to do something about it, to further solidify our hold on the North." Arya says and I can see the gears running in her eyes. Politics have never been her strong point, as a matter of fact it hasn't been any of our strong point, until a few years to late which is clear as day as here we are.

"So how do we go about it?" Jon asks curiously.

"What the Starks have done for eight thousand years. We will rule the North." Robb says determined catching Arya's undivided attention.

"As kings?"

Robb looks us straight in the eye and utters one determined affirmative.

"Aye."

"Robb, at the risk of sounding unsupportive, are you sure that is not just the power hungry side of you talking? I mean you have already tasted the power of being king and it did not exactly end well." I say uncertainty. I really would like to see the North independent but I would like to see it independent for the people not for a power hungry leader.

"Aye, I have. But remember, I was crowned against my will. I had no experience whatsoever in politics and no matter my success on the battlefield I was a green boy. But I have made those mistakes and I have learned of them. Not to mention I didn't have the help and insight you doubtlessly have Sansa. I would like all of us to be able to talk to each other without the fear of scorn. No matter the evidence of our body, we are adults." Robb says in a grave voice that reminded me of Tywin Lannister.

I smile at him and give him a hug.

"I would like that as well, brother."

We look over to Jon and Arya who both nod their heads on agreement.

"I completely agree. We bowed to the dragons and the dragons have fallen. The only reason we even bow to the fat stag is his lifelong friendship with our father. But the core of the problem is that he is not strong enough monarch to rule over the North. He is Aegon the Unworthy and the prick Joffrey is the Mad King come again." Arya says hotly before winching and laying back against the pillows.

"That is true. But breaking away from the Seven Kingdoms is easier said than done. We would need strong defences and reliable allies, like you said Sansa, we do not have as stable hold as we believe." Jon interjects.

"Aye. We would need to rebuild the Moat. That is our strongest defence against attack or invasion by land." Robb says thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That leaves invasion from sea." Arya points out.

"To repel that we need a fleet at White Harbour." Robb answers promptly.

"But what of an attack from the west? The Iron born?" Jon implores.

"The Iron born would not dare to attack, we have Theon." Arya says.

"That is no matter. Balon has groomed his daughter Yara to be his heir, to him Theon is a lost cause. A Greenlander." I inform them sadly, remembering what Theon had told me, or at least the stuttering mess Ramsay had turned Theon into.

"But unfortunately for us Theon will always pick his father over us, no matter what we say or do." Robb agrees.

"So I can kill him?" Arya asks grinning with a glint in her eye.

"No Arya, you cannot kill him. He still serves a purpose." I remind her and her face falls before I add; "But that doesn't mean that his stay here must be comfortable."

We all share a smirk that would have scared our parents had they seen it. Oh dear, are they in for a shock with how much we have changed. Surely we will render them bald and grey with worry, if we haven't already.

"And we still don't have any defences on the western shores. We have no way nor time to have our supposed fleet to reach the western shore from White Harbour." Jon says solemnly.

"Then we build another harbour and divide our fleet." Robb says in triumph.

"Alright, a new stronghold on the western shores with a trading harbour, split fleet and a rebuilt Moat. Who would rule it?" Jon asks reasonably. A wolfish smile crosses Robb's features and Jon leans a little back uncertainly.

"Well, you of course, get the Moat. It is too important to give outside the family." Robb says like it is the most natural thing in the world, though I have to admit it does have its merit.

"Me, what will your mother think of it, why not Rickon?" Jon asks shocked.

"Because war is coming sooner rather than later and as much as I hate to say it but, Rickon is an untested green boy and will not be old enough when winter comes. Not to mention, he likes the sea far better than any of us, He can get the new harbour and all its naval power." Robb says seriously.

"And to the seventh hell with what mother thinks. You are our brother and should be honoured as such. We should get you legitimized." I say hotly, the conviction in my voice shocking even myself.

"Yes and you have experience." Arya adds. We all look at her confused.

"Arya, I have no experience ruling my own castle." Jon points out gently.

"Well kind of, weren't you the Lord Commander at the Wall? Anyway, that was no what I was talking about. You were at the Wall protecting the north from wildlings and such. Now you can have your own wall protecting the North from the stupid southerners." Arya says with a satisfied smile playing on her lips. We all chuckle at that.

"Well, perhaps you are right little wolf. But if the fleet is slip I two then only half of the Norths Naval power belongs to the Starks. Who will govern the rest?" Jon asks.

"The rest of the fleet will go into the hands of Lord Manderly. It should placate the lord that he is trusted enough to receive control over such an invaluable assets to the Norths defences." Robb reasons.

"And it will leave one less lord for us to placate through marriage." I say airily.

"It does but we still have a problem." Jon says and we all look at him indicating that he should continue.

"A naval fleet of, let's say around eighty ships of various kinds, a new harbour, a completely new castle, preferably a large stronghold and a rebuild Moat, which may I add is the largest castle in the North. This is roughly about a million and a half, at the least. Just how are we going about to pay for all of this?"

That does make us stop and think for a minute. That is a valid point and could be a major problem, especially in the long run. If we were to get the North's independence then it would not look good for us to be in as much debt as the Crown is currently.

"How much do we have to spare?" Robb asks a bit nervously. Probably because such high numbers have never been his strong suit.

"I could find out, I just have to get out of here but I think that we should look elsewhere for some of it. We wouldn't want to empty our treasury, even if it would benefit us in the long run we need to think of the short term." Arya says referring to the need of buying food for the winter stores. Then I had an idea.

"Marriage!"

"Yes, Sansa, marriage. Something every highborn lord and lady dread. What about it." Jon asks in slight humour.

"Have you always been this pessimistic?" I shoot back to which he shrugs, none the less I continue.

"Marriage, between Robb and Margaery Tyrell. Before you tear it down just hear me out. They are the second richest family in the Seven Kingdoms. Margaery wants to be queen but the stag will never allow it and a Stark is not far below the king. Probably far better Robb than that sadistic bastard Joffrey. For the dowry we could get a large sum of money, not to mention trade would increase between the North and the Reach, and since the Reach is the most fertile kingdom, we could get food or a much lower price than we would normally do. Margaery would make a good queen, I guarantee it. She just has the tendency to manipulate people around her to do her will, so be careful with that." I finish my case, hoping they have bought it, at least Robb.

After a bit of contemplative silence Robb speaks up;

"I see your point and totally agree. It would be most beneficial but I have my own reservations on marrying a southern girl, not to mention the lords of the North would be angered of being overlooked."

I understood his reservations. Last time he married a southern girl he got killed and though I do not know the whole story, and do not intend to push as I have my own secrets, his hesitation for marrying Margaery is not wholly unexpected.

"But I will do it for the good of the North." Robb finishes diplomatically.

"One betrothal down, three to go." Arya says sarcastically and we chuckle lightly.

"And who is Rickon going to marry?" Jon asks.

"He's too young for betrothals, Jon. It is you that is getting married." Arya says shocking Jon.

"But I am a bastard." Jon counters weakly.

"Have you not been listening Jon? You are going to be legitimized, getting the Moat and a lovely northern wife." Arya says mock annoyed.

"Well, we need to placate the Karstarks. Perhaps you can marry Lord Karstark's daughter, Alys?" Robb suggests.

"Of course he won't be happy to begin with and therefore will be hard to get him to see things our way." Arya states. An understatement if there ever was one. Lord Rickard Karstark may be loyal but he is also ambitious and would take it as a slight, marrying his daughter to the bastard of Winterfell who has no lands or titles of his own.

"I will take care of it if need be." I say, already calculating how to approach the lord.

"Good. Now you and Arya?" Robb asks, bearing in mind that at least Arya would kill him if he didn't ask her first.

And now to the matter to which I have been dreading, but it must be done. There is no way around it. I have spent the past few days going over solutions to this specific problem and I always came to the same conclusion.

"We need the Bolton's." I wait for the explosion but none came so I continued. "He is useful in his own right and by no means stupid. I will marry Bolton and when I have birthed his heir, my son, I will kill him." Satisfied that I have got all I needed to say out. There was a long silence where they all looked at me with an unwavering gaze.

"Sansa, what are you not saying?" Arya asks slowly. I was so hoping that they wouldn't have asked that question. I took a deep breath and then said the one sentence that would tear down the plan I had in place for Bolton.

"Domeric is dead."

The silence was deafening but it didn't last long.

"You are going to seduce and kill Roose Bolton?" Jon asks, wanting to clarify the heart of the matter. I manage a simple nod before Robb explodes;

"The man is a traitor! He plotted against me and succeeded. Sansa, have you taken a leave of your senses."

"We need the Bolton's, Robb. They are a key bannerman and their men are loyal to them. We need to be on the inside to make sure they won't betray us again. Don't you see, if I'm married to the man I can manipulate him to stay true to us. Robb I learned from the best in King's Landing. I can do it." I plead for him to see the importance of this. Only the Bolton's control the Dreadfort.

"He could hurt you!" Robb and Jon yell and I am hit with the urgency in their eyes. They are truly scared that he will hurt me and I am truly humbled that I have such devoted family at my back.

"I thank you for your concern brothers, truly I do, but I can handle myself and it warms my heart to know I have you two at my back. Roose will not hurt me because I am a Stark, I am a woman and I will be his wife. He is not as much of a monster as he is made out to be. And believe me when I say that Roose is better than Ramsay." I say and grab both of their hands.

"I will kill him." Arya interjects, drawing our attention to her.

"Arya, you can't kill Roose." I say gently.

"Not Roose, you idiot, Ramsay." Arya says offended.

"Thank you… but not yet." I say thoughtfully.

"Why not? He is a monster that is better put down." Arya says indignant.

"Maybe I can use him to get through to Roose." I answer still deep in thought.

"That is a very big maybe." Jon points out but I quickly shoot back;

"But if it works it could singlehandedly get me through to Roose."

"And place you in a life threatening situation either way." Robb says with a tone of finality.

"Let's, just… put it aside for the time being." I reason, trying to buy some time while grudgingly admitting that they were partly right.

"Alright, but only for the time being." Jon says, leaving no room for discussion.

"What about me? Who will be my lucky man?" Arya asks sarcastically with a hint of worry in her tone.

"I don't know." Robb says and looks around at us.

"Perhaps you should keep an eye open." Jon suggests and Arya nods satisfied. We descend into a comfortable silence for a while before Arya speaks up;

"Did the Stark say anything to you?"

We all look at each other with a mixture of hope and panic. I thought I was the only one to have him speaking of me. Of course there was only one Stark she could be talking about, the one I met before being thrown back in time. I decide to go first;

"' _You are a player, not a piece. Help your brother, for when you play the game of thrones, you either win or you die.' I find it rather obvious." They nod in agreement. "_ What did he say to you?" I ask curiously.

"Valar Morghulis, little wolf and Valar Dohaeris." She answer and we give her confused looks, none of us understanding the language.

"It's High Valyrian. It means 'All men must die' and 'All men must serve'." Arya clarifies, seeing the looks of confusion on our faces.

"When did you learn High Valyrian?" I ask stunned.

"In Braavos, with the Faceless men." She answers like it is an everyday occurrence that a highborn northern lady is speaking High Valyrian with Faceless men, in Braavos.

"Well, that is interesting. It sounds like it has a hidden message or something, like mine." Robb says thoughtfully, effectively drawing our attention to him and we wait for him to elaborate. Robb looks up at us;

"What?" I simply raise an eyebrow. "Oh, right. 'Lead your people, Young wolf, trust your siblings. Winter is coming'. I think that our house words are some kind of a warning but I have a feeling it is not about the War of the Five Kings."

I'm inclined to agree and watching Arya's and Jon's reactions, I think they do to.

"I think I know what it means." Jon says quietly.

"Really? What did he say to you?" Robb was almost chipper, a great contrast to Jon's sudden grimness.

"'You hold the secret to victory. The lone wolf dies while the pack survives.'"

Robb, Arya and I looked to each other in confusion. Jon held the secret to victory? Victory against what?

I should have known better than to want to know, the colour drained from our faces at Jon's next words.

"The Others have risen."

* * *

 **Dun dun dun!**

 **\- Until next time my lovelies!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Greetings folks. Apologies for an extended absence. I am afraid I simply did not give myself the time to finish writing the chapter in the past few weeks… months… hem hem. Anyway I hope it is up to your standards. By the way the next chapter will not take so long to update, it just needs some finishing touches and it will join its predecessors. Promise.**

– **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Eddard**

I am starting to get really worried about my children. They have changed so much over night that they are hardly recognisable. They put up a good show of hiding it and are even fooling Cat, but I can see it. They all have lost that glint in their eyes, that glint of innocence and quite frankly I am scared of what happened to it. They are harder, tougher somehow and a lot shrewder.

There is so much secrecy around them. It is always like they are hiding something but when you ask either they clam up or give a very plausible reason that in hindsight is not very plausible. It is like they speak their own silent language. It is actually rather amazing to watch during family meals when Arya and Robb exchange glances and then suddenly the day is planned down to what horse is going to be used for carrying the supplies on the hunting trip. Or when Jon simply touches a random finger on his hand and Sansa changes the subject out of the blue. And most unnerving is when Sansa talks and talks but says nothing at all but you still get the feeling that you are missing something important, like she is conveying a warning for an Iron born attack through dress measures.

The only reason that I don't press more than a ' _Is there something you would like to tell me?_ ' at the breakfast table is because they are doing so much good. Robb has taken interest in the running affairs of Winterfell and the North and is excelling. He even suggested that Lord Manderly should expand his fleet and perhaps half of it should go to the eastern shore to fend of Iron born. A brilliant idea and frankly I do not know why I did not come up with it myself. It will take years but the end results are promising.

Jon is also doing great things. When Sansa asked over breakfast two days after they were all admitted out of bed, if Jon could be legitimized, I was shocked. Cat didn't take it well to say the least. She jumped out of her chair and started raging. It seemed to have no affect at all on any of them except Rickon. He, after all, had never seen his mother this way. But Robb, Sansa, Jon and Arya all kept their eyes on me almost unblinkingly, completely ignoring Cat. It was rather unnerving.

Jon is personally overseeing the reparations on the Moat, his future seat. Another thing that Cat didn't like at all. She thought that the Moat should go to Rickon to which Arya had responded with;

"Rickon will have his due."

The only thing I am really concerned about is their attitude towards Theon. Ever since they woke up they have been as harsh and as subtle as a northern winter. Creeping up on him, the cold enveloping its deadly embrace around him before he realises something is wrong, numbing him to the final deadly blow. They have all but shunned him. Theon is just as confused as I am at their behaviour but along with the confusion I find dread settling in my stomach. I am most definitely not going to like the reason behind it.

* * *

I sat in my solar awaiting for Lord Rickard. With Jon being legitimized I would need to find a wife for him and he was adamant of her being a fellow northerner. It was Sansa that suggested Alys Karstark but I cannot help but wonder if Rickard won't feel it as a slight. A knock on the door breaks my train of thought.

"Enter."

In comes Jory with Rickard.

"Lord Karstark, My Lord." Jory says with a bow of his head.

"Thank you, Jory. You may go." I say and wait for him to close the door before gesturing to one of two chairs across from me. "Please have a seat, Rickard. Can I offer you some ale?"

"Yes, thank you. Now, what is it you wanted to talk about Ned?" Rickard asked as he sat down, taking the offered ale. I saw no reason to drag it out.

"A betrothal. Between your daughter, Alys, and my son, Jon."

I carefully watched Rickard's face change from smug satisfaction to insulted disappointment. I sighed, this was going to be a long discussion, but before I could placate him or he could voice a word of protest, the door opened and Sansa walked in with a smile upon her face.

"Morning, Father. Morning, Lord Karstark. I sure hope you haven't finished without me?" Sansa said as she helped herself to the other chair.

"No, we did not. Barely passed the request. Sansa, I didn't know you were going to join us." I say unsure.

"Oh, that is alright Father, you weren't meant to." She said and turned to Rickard.

"Now, my Lord, I know you have some reservations about this betrothal but I assure you, it was not meant as a slight. As a matter of fact, it was meant as an honour. Jon is a well-mannered young man that can easily take care of your daughter-", Sansa began but was interrupted by Rickard.

"He is a bastard, how can it not be a slight?"

"He is legitimized by the King's decree and therefore only a bastard by birth not by law." Sansa quipped back, a momentarily shadow crossed her face as her smile dropped and she glared at Rickard, who shrank back in surprise. But the smile was back as quickly as it had left and she continued.

"As I was saying, Jon is well capable and will treat your daughter right. As for the land he will rule. He will be a Stark, but with his own banner, his own words and his own castle, that by the way is in progress. We can accept a dowry of twenty barrels of grain, fifteen caskets of wheat and either five thousand gold dragons or seven thousand silver stags, all of which will of course be going to Jon and Alys's new holdfast."

Rickon and I just stared at her in a mixture of amazement and confusion. Why would the dowry be so little? Apparently Rickard had the same thought as he voiced it;

"Why so little dowry? Don't you think my Alys is worth more?"

"Of course she is. She is as priceless as any daughter to her father. I just thought that since you were unwilling to accept the betrothal at the promise of your daughter's comfort and happiness then maybe it would look more appealing if the dowry wouldn't be so much." Sansa placated.

"Small dowry for a small keep then, is it girl?" Rickard was getting rather impatient.

"Maybe, maybe not." Was all the answer Sansa gave. There was a contemplative silence where Rickard was seizing Sansa up, then he turned his completive stare to me. I made sure to keep my face passive and act as I supported Sansa's proposal, or that the proposal was my idea overall. Not that I knew about it until now. After a few minutes, Sansa spoke again.

"Perhaps, My Lord, to sweeten the deal a little more then. If my brother would tragically fall in battle without leaving an heir, the castle and all its lands may be inherited by one of your sons."

"And if he dies, but outside the battlefield?" Rickard challenged.

"Then as long as a Karstark is not behind it, it will still go to one of your sons." Sansa replied easily

"And if a Karstark wore to be found guilty?" I had to admit, I was curious as well.

"Then the castle and all its lands will go to my sister Arya." The determination in Sansa's voice was unmistakable as she stared Rickard down. After a long silence and an intense staring contest Rickard relented;

"I will think on it."

"Wonderful." Sansa beamed as she clapped her hands together and stood up, heading towards the door. "Then I will bid you good day, Lord Karstark. Good day, Father."

"Wait a second young lady." Rickard said and stood up, halting Sansa in the doorway. "What castle are we talking about?"

A secretive smile crossed her lips as she answered;

"Now, you will just have to wait and see, won't you, My Lord?" and with a warning glance in my direction she left.

* * *

Rickard has been complaining to each and every lord who would listen about the betrothal and the mystery castle. Galbart Glover just scoffed at him and said that bastard or no, Jon is still a Stark and if he had a daughter he would have gladly taken that betrothal. The Greatjon called Rickard a craven for not taking a risk, for surely a Stark even a bastard would get a good seat.

The lords also had a good time speculating about Jon's supposed lordship. All from Wolf's den to the Dustin lands and even the Stony shore. I did not understand Sansa's refusal of announcing Jon's appointment as lord of Moat Cailin.

It was when we were breaking our fast two days after we offered the betrothal that Rickard walked in with a determined expression on his face.

"I will accept the betrothal."

"Good. How about we have the wedding as soon as possible? How long do you think it will take your family to travel from Karhold?" I ask only to be stopped by Robb.

"Father, if you and Lord Karstark do not mind, then I would very much like to have a double wedding with my brother. I imagine it would only delay the wedding for about a fortnight."

I just stared at him in disbelief. Who would want, other than my son apparently, a double wedding outside a wartime?

"So should we decorate in black or should we skip it completely?" Sansa asked in a matter-of-fact-tone, breaking the silence as she took a sip of milk.

* * *

After the announcement of Robb and Jon's betrothals and upcoming wedding the Lords decided to stay until the nuptials were over, hopefully in no more than two moons. The Tyrells answer was swift and Sansa thought that had something to do with a letter Robb supposedly sent to the Lady Margaery. According to the rare blush that adorned Robb's cheeks I think there is actual merit in that statement.

None the less the preparations began and the keep was bustling with activity. Cat had started to oversee the preparations but when word got to her that Robb and Jon would be sharing a wedding she ceased all help and has since sat sulking in my solar. I have to admit that I expected Cat to behave more like an adult about this but so far I have been disappointed.

On the other hand I couldn't be prouder of my girls. Sansa and Arya have taken to oversee everything and while Sansa stiches two Stark cloaks, one with a grey direwolf on white and the other a white direwolf on black, Arya prepares the menu and seating and sleeping arrangements. Together they are a force to be reckoned with and I can see the wedding coming along nicely and passing without a hitch.

* * *

 **Jon**

It has been a month since I woke up in the past, and what a strange and confusing three weeks it has been. I'm _finally_ a legitimized Stark, a dream come true, have been betrothed to Lady Alys Karstark and the reparations of the Moat have begun, which I am overseeing.

I think I can safely say that Lady Catelyn was not happy with the announcement of my legitimization. She screamed and raged and threatened to have me thrown to the gallows. It was actually quite laughable how childish she was about this and even better was her completely dumfounded expression when Sansa demanded I be legitimized.

Now, I don't know how Sansa managed to convince Lord Rickard Karstark, the proudest and most stubborn lord in the North according to Lady Catelyn, to betroth his daughter to me, a newly legitimized bastard, but she did it. I am actually a little exited to meet my betrothed. From all accounts she is very sweet and easy to be around. I hope she is, I do not want to resign myself to spend the rest of my life with someone I cannot stand.

Robb has, to my surprise, demanded a double wedding and when Lady Catelyn asked, or more like demanded, why he would want to share his wedding with a bastard, Robb swiftly gave a responsible, sensible and cutting response;

"I want to share this momentous occasion with my _brother_ as he is in a similar situation just like you did with your sister. The lords would not have to travel twice to Winterfell and it will not be as expensive nor waste as much food for, as you well know Mother, Winter is coming."

That shut her up nicely.

* * *

The ceremony passed without a hitch. Both brides looked absolutely stunning, though each in their own way. While Lady Margaery had a shiny outgoing beauty, Lady Alys had a subtle and shy beauty about her that drew me in. Later, on the way into the keep from the Godswoods, Sansa would comment that Robb and I had worked in perfect synchronization when cloaking our brides.

"I was like you had practised it for hours!"

Robb and I simply exchanged amused looks as Sansa knew, we had been practising many things, mainly swords play, it truly is amazing how hard it was as we were in the smaller bodies of our teenage selves, and how to rule a castle, but none of them involved cloaking a bride.

Sitting atop of the dais at the High table with Alys on my right and Robb on my left, I watched the ongoing celebration. Lady Catelyn sits and sips wine further down the table, content with watching the celebration and glaring at me. Father is milling about, talking with this lord and that lord. Arya is sitting beside Alys, her sharp gaze running over everything and everyone, most likely going over who is a threat and who is not. Rickon is running around with some of the lord's children that got to come along. And Sansa is running around dragging seemingly random lords to the dancefloor under the ruse of having a bet with Arya. She has already dragged Lord Bolton twice to the dancefloor, how she keeps doing these things is beyond my comprehension.

I alternate between talking quietly with Robb to talking with Lady Alys and of course eating and an impromptu dance here and there with my bride. We receive many congratulations and well wishes along with various gifts, my favourite being a small statue of a white wolf circling a white ray of sunshine protectively. I cast an amused glance at Sansa, who was the culprit for the gift but she only beamed back. I heard Robb chuckle and turned towards him in question only to see a similar statue only instead of a ray of sunshine there was a golden rose circled by a grey wolf.

As the day started turning into night I could feel Lady Alys getting more and more quiet. I kept asking her what was wrong but she stubbornly continued saying it was nothing. Finally I decided to take a gamble;

"There will be no bedding ceremony." I could feel her staring at me but I continued observing the gathering. "It is a stupid southern tradition that will stay there if I have anything to do with it."

There was a long silence, so long that I was starting to think I was wrong about what was wrong. I jumped when I felt lips on my cheek.

"Thank you." It was whispered but I could hear the gratitude loud and clear. I looked at her and smiled slightly before bringing her hand to my lips.

"You are most welcome."

"We would like to thank you all for coming, Lords and Ladies of the North and the Reach." Robb called out, a gracious smile on his lips as he helped Lady Margaery out of her chair.

"But us brides and grooms find ourselves eager to retire for the evening, so we bid you good night." Standing up, finishing where he left off, intending a quick and peaceful exit but that was halted by a drunk Reachman calling out;

"But there must be a bedding ceremony! It is tradition!"

Neither Robb nor I liked the notion. We liked even less the subtle stiffening of our lady wives spines.

"You can keep your southern traditions in the South." Robb said, a dangerous undertone in his voice that carried around the suddenly deathly silent hall.

"But we will not degrade our wives like that." I, once again, picked up right where he left off, using the same tone of voice as I presented my new wife with my arm, urging her to take it and swiftly leaving the hall in brooding anger. Of course things could not be that easy as our progress was once again halted, this time by my goodfather.

"Wait a second lad. I have yet to know of your holdfast. I was promised its name after the wedding."

It was really tempting to say that the wedding was not over yet. It was also tempting to simply walk away. But both of those tempting options would be considered rude. Instead I simply waved Robb ahead and turned Lady Alys and myself around, facing the halls occupants once more.

"Behold my wife, the Lady Alys Stark, Lady of Moat Cailin. May she _Stand Strong_ and _Stand Tall_ by my side for _Winter is coming_."

I swept my gaze once over the stunned faces in the hall before swiftly and thankfully managing to leave the feast.

* * *

As we arrived outside my chambers, our chambers now I guess, I saw Robb about to enter his after his wife at the other end of the hallway. Seeing how guarded he was around Lady Margaery I came to the decision to at least try to put him at ease.

"Robb!"

He whipped around the moment he heard my call, just goes to show how highly strung he is. I gave him a look that told him I wanted to have a word and he nodded, sending his wife inside before starting to walk over to me. I look to my own wife.

"Just go inside and make yourself at home, my lady. I will be in shortly."

She nodded her head, glancing between us, then giving me a quick smile and going inside our own chambers. I walked over to Robb, desperately hoping I wouldn't make things worse. Ever since we woke up here in the past, we have been able to work together better but still there is something. It is like we know each other better but still don't. We all had different experiences and obstacles we had to conquer and that made us different people than when we were first in Winterfell. There are just some things that are not mentioned between us, and I am about to broach one of them.

"Robb, you know what will happen behind those doors." Robb gave me an offended look. Alright not the best way to start this.

"What I mean is that it is better to let yourself enjoy it. Get to know her, let her get to know you. Build a relationship. Your continued coldness will only set you up for an unhappy marriage. I do not want that for you brother." I was desperately trying to get through the walls Robb was building up.

"She is a southerner. There is nothing I can do. I have to keep my guard up or she will get control of the north. It is we that are using her, not the other way around." The harshness in Robb's tone almost made me flinch. This is not the way it was supposed to go. Even Sansa was worried for Robb's willingness to resign to unhappiness. 'For the North', was his mantra. That bloody Westerling did a hell of a number on him.

"Brother. She is not Jeyne."

I could see I lost the gamble. Robb's eyes spit fire as he pivoted on his heel, marching to his chambers and all but slamming the door shut. I sighed. Walking to my chambers I stopped just short of the door. My future was in that room, a brighter future than I ever dared hope for. I just need to remember my own advice; _"Get to know her, let her get to know you. Build a relationship."_ Easier said than done.

"Well, Jon. Winter is coming and you need to brave it, standing strong and standing tall." I said to myself and finally opened the door to the rest of my life.

* * *

" **Stand Strong, Stand Tall." – Words of house Stark of Moat Cailin**

 **I also want to thank everyone who favourite, follow (or both) and leave a review for my story. It really make my day.**

– **Until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Greetings folks! See, I told you I wouldn't take long for this chapter, kind of. Anyway since I have nothing else to say:**

– **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Margaery**

A raven had come and we were all expected to eat together at one of the smaller dining halls and discuss its contents. That usually means it is an offer for betrothal between some little lordling or another and myself. Grandmother has long decided that it was a family decision and not just up to my father. My brothers all agreed to grandmother's idea and jump at every chance to shoot down the offers for one reason or another.

I was the last to arrive. My father sat at the far head of the table with mother on his left and Willas on his right. To Willas's right sat Garlan with his wife Leonette and opposite them was Loras with an empty seat beside him. Grandmother sat at the near head of the table opposite father. I took my seat with a flourish.

"Now who is it this time? Another Frey?" Grandmother wasn't slow to start the discussion.

"Perhaps a Florent again?" Loras said.

"Or a Westerling. Maybe even a Lefford." Garlan jabed and laughed along with Willas and Loras.

"It could of course be a Royce. Or perhaps the poor fool is a Riverlord." Willas added.

I could not help but laugh with them. The quest to find me a worthy husband had indeed led to many interesting candidates, not that any of them passed through first inspection, in other words, got the approval of my brothers.

"No, a Stark of Winterfell."

A hush fell over us at my father's words. Willas, Garlan and Loras exchanged glances, I couldn't blame them. How do they find fault in the Stark heir? Both the name and Lord Stark's reputation for being an honourable and just man gave rather few flaws, no doubt he raised his son after his own code. The young lordling would even be easy to manipulate into doing my bidding. But my musings were cut short by father's announcement.

"I am declining it."

A shocked silence followed and then an outrageous cry pierced the air;

"What?!"

We all looked to Grandmother who was actually showing how angry she was.

"I am declining the offer." Father repeated with conviction.

"Why in the Seven hells would you do such a thing?" Grandmother all but screamed at her son.

"My daughter, the Rose of Highgarden, will not wed some northern savage, no matter his name, to be raped and even passed around the bannermen only to then freeze to death in that barren wasteland."

There was silence following Father's speech and though it warmed my heart to know my father cared so much for me, I could not help but stare in astonishment at his foolishness.

"Well, I hope you find a better reason than that to send in your foolish letter, Mace. Because that, though it will certainly be memorable, will not go over so well with Lord Stark." Grandmother said as she made to stand up but we were interrupted by a servant carrying a letter.

"Lady Margaery, a letter for you." She said after curtsying.

"Thank you Alla, put it in my chambers so I may read it later." I say and give her a small smile.

"But the letter carries the sigil of house Stark, my lady." Now that got everyone's attention.

"Fine, I will read it now. Thank you Alla." I say and take the letter. I stare at it wondering what it could be. I had never personally gotten a letter with a betrothal.

"Oh, for Seven's sake girl. Open it." Grandmother's curt words cut through my haze and I looked over the faces of my family. They all looked anxious. Why is this so difficult? With a deep breath I break the seal and open the letter.

And my eyes open as wide as saucier.

 _Lady Margaery of house Tyrell_

 _I am going to be honest with you as I feel a deception of any kind is not a good start to any kind of relationship. This is, like most betrothals and arranged marriages before this one, a strategic alliance. I cannot say that your beauty, kindness or embroidery skills surpasses all women since first of all, I have not met you, and second of all, I have not met all women._

 _I imagine it cannot be a pleasant thought to leave all you have ever known for some cold and barren wasteland and marry an unkempt brute with crooked teeth and four missing fingers. But I assure you, not_ _all_ _northerners are like that._

 _Right now my sisters are laughing at my supposed attempt at a 'love letter' but my purpose with this letter is not to declare my undying love for you but to tell you that, if you are not willing to accept the proposal, you only say the word and I will get my father to retract the offer. Personally I have nothing against the match and hope for a positive answer._

 _Bur the choice, as always, is yours._

 _Lord Robb of house Stark, heir to Winterfell._

"Well he certainly is blunt, your boy. But at the same time has a… way with words." Grandmother commented as she read the letter over my shoulder. I blushed at her use of the words 'your boy', he is not my husband yet, not even my betrothed.

"Now don't be selfish sister, it won't save _your boy._ Pass the letter along." Willas teased but as he asked the letter was passed along the table. Everyone read the letter and then fell into a contemplative silence until father finished reading.

"The audacity of the boy. To send a personal letter to an unmarried woman. This is outrageous!" He blusters, red in the face.

"But father, he is offering me a way out, should I want it." I try to placate him still somewhat in shock at the offer itself. Never has my consent been taken into consideration by a suitor.

"Father, I think that we should seriously consider this offer." Loras spoke up shocking everyone. Loras had always been the most protective of her, not letting any man near without close watch and seriously maiming anyone that hurt her.

"Have you taken a leave of your senses?" Father splutters. Loras rolls his eyes.

"No. I am just saying that you cannot do much better than a Stark."

We just stared at him. Usually he was almost as foolish as father.

"What? It is common knowledge. Even though few will admit it." Loras says defensively.

* * *

We managed to bring father to our way of thinking, especially since me being queen is rather farfetched, and decided to have the wedding as soon as possible. The journey was long and tiring, though only three weeks, but the scenery was beautiful. We saw the constructions of Moat Cailin were coming along but still a far way from restoring the castle to its former glory. We didn't stay there as it was barely noon when we passed. The North was vast and cold but not as barren as I would have thought. There were a few stubborn trees and bushes here and there, and even some winter roses peeking up from the summer snow.

When we arrived at Winterfell, I was amazed by the simple beauty the castle truly was. It was bigger than the Red Keep in King's Landing but more rough around the edges. We were greeted by the entire Stark family and even some of the northern bannermen who had come to attend the wedding.

I saw Robb Stark and was most certainly beyond pleased. He had dark auburn hair falling to his shoulders and a well-trimmed beard. He had a tall frame and broad shoulders, though he still had a lot of growing to do to better fill out his frame. I quite frankly could not find anything displeasing and I think that performing the wifely duty will be rather easy with that to look at. The only shame was that he had a stony expression, I couldn't read anything from it. Even his eyes were guarded, heavily guarded. Though he did manage a half a smile when he kissed my hand and welcomed me to Winterfell.

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur. More bannermen coming for the wedding, sleeping and seating arrangements to be made and of course the wedding dress. But in all the chaos Robb made sure to have at least an half an hour, just for the two of us, where we would take a walk around the castle or the Glass garden. It was easy to like Robb. He was charming and good mannered and never did anything to compromise my honour, though there were times where I wish he had. But still he was guarding himself, I saw it in his in eyes. Especially when I talked about the South. It would be like I got passed some of the walls and then I would mention a flower that grows in Highgarden and I could see all the walls rushing up and his smile becoming strained. It is not only Highgarden or the Reach. When I would be holding his arm as he lead me through the gardens and I would mention the gardens in the Red keep, his arm would tense and he would get a lot quieter, barely contributing to the conversations.

I brought my concerns to my grandmother and she said that it was a northern thing, hating everything south of the Neck. I beg to differ as I have not gotten the same reaction from Lord Stark or any of his bannermen, well not to the same extent. They only scoffed and bragged about not needing some flowery seat in a golden castle and the sun shining in their faces to be comfortable.

But I have had this reaction from his half-brother Jon and his sister Arya. I have had little interaction with Jon, since he only came to Winterfell a few days before the wedding carrying five direwolf pups. Each of which has taken to one of the Stark children, following them around if they can. None the less I have noticed that Jon is a rather sullen and serious young man, not to mention quiet, but unfailingly polite and respectful. Personally I think he is quite taken with his betrothed but I have to say that Alys is one step away from being in love with him.

Arya is just as quiet if not more but I have a feeling that her temper is also very explosive, disturbingly so. I also noticed her special attire. Dresses made by her sister, Sansa, I was told when I asked. They all have a high collar and most of them are just one layer of thick woollen fabric or leather. They also have slits from the bottom all the way to the belt on either side of her hips. Arya also wears breeches underneath them, so I guess the dresses are not dresses but some kind of an overdress? Coat, perhaps?

Sansa on the other hand is lovely. She talks and talks and asks millions of questions about how life is at Highgarden. She would be a perfect lady for the south, only if she wasn't so naïve. She believes in the tales of knights and true love like in the songs. I dread the day she comes to face reality and is confused as to why her husband is bedding whores and perhaps even hitting her. The poor girl. I think I am quite lucky with Robb, he will do neither.

* * *

The wedding is finally here. I have to say that I am rather grateful to be having a double wedding, now I don't have to go through this alone. Robb had wanted to share his wedding with his brother Jon, as he is to marry Alys Karstark. We got ready together along with my mother and grandmother, her mother and Lady Stark and Sansa. Arya was also forced to come but she just sits in a chair by the table in silence. Lady Stark and my mother are gushing over my dress and my hair, complementing me and reassuring me that everything will be alright. Sansa is gushing over the both of us and is probably more excited than both Alys and I together. The nerves are creeping up on me and I often find myself biting my lover lip in nervousness. I look to Alys and see her wringing her hands together.

"Wow, Margaery. I wish I will look half as beautiful as you on my wedding day." Sansa gushed enthusiastically.

"I'm sure you will look even more beautiful, Sansa." I answer with a slightly forced smile, the nerves getting the better of me.

"Alys, do you think I should do three braids or two in your hair?" Sansa asked as she finished braiding my hair before turning to Alys.

"J-Just two Lady Sansa. I-I don't want to go overboard." Alys stuttered and she looked like a deer caught by a predator.

"Three it is then. You will be lovely, Jon won't know what hit him. Oh don't look at me like that. We are to be sisters soon and I settle for only the best for my brothers. Now sit down before I make you." Sansa gestured to the chair I just evacuated. I found it quite amusing to see the sixteen year old bride to be, being bossed around by a thirteen year old.

A little while later the door opened and my father, with Lord Karstark not far behind, stepped inside the room, beaming like he was just crowned king.

"The ceremony is about to start, my dear." He said. Arya took the chance and fled the scene before her mother could say a thing. Sansa kissed my cheek and then Alys's and told us not to worry before departing with her mother. My mother and grandmother both hugged and wished me well before taking their leave as well. I took a deep breath before taking father's hand as he followed Alys and her father to the Godswood.

* * *

There was no bedding ceremony, for which I was eternally grateful but the bedding itself was still very nerve-wracking. Jon had to pull Robb to the side for a bit so I went ahead to our chamber and changed into a nightgown. _Our_ chamber. It is strange to think about it. I was surprised when I found out that in the North there are really few married couples that don't share chambers. I sat in front of the vanity and unbraided my hair, thinking as I combed through it.

I had to seduce him. I couldn't let this marriage go unconsummated. I remember Robb drinking a fair bit but not enough to be relatively drunk on any level. He should be just like any other man, wave a little naked flesh at them and they pounce. It should be even easier since he is a green boy, at least according to Theon Greyjoy. Now, there is a vile individual if there ever was one. I shudder and then jump in my seat as the door slams open. I turn around and come face to face with a rather angry Robb Stark.

He closes and bars the door and then just watches me, his face set in a stone cold mask but his eyes are burning with fury. The fury in his eyes frightens me more than I care to admit but I mask it quickly and paint a seductive smile on my lips as I slowly stand up.

"About time you got here, husband. I was getting lonely."

No reaction. He just stands there and watches me, something akin to suspicion mixing with the fury in his eyes. I try to calm my furiously beating heart and take a hesitant step forward, praying to the Seven that he doesn't notice my reluctance to approach him. With each step I take I loosen a tie on my nightgown until he falls down. I stop, naked, a few feet in front of Robb, no reaction. He doesn't even look away from my face. I take a deep, shaky breath.

"Won't you come and make me yours?" I say and hope he didn't catch the quiver in my voice.

His jaw clenched and his eyes seemed to spit blue fire. His eyes flickered a few times between the table against the wall on my left side, then to the bed against the opposite wall, on my right. A sudden cold fear slithered down my back. Surely he won't bend me over the table like a common whore. He seemed to make a decision and hastily took off his own clothing before advancing on me. I couldn't help but take an involuntary step backwards, the sight of my husband's imposing figure combined with the fury in his eyes was frightening.

That step seemed to be a mistake as his eyes flashed dangerously and he grabbed my upper arm, pulling me flush against him. He stared into my eyes, never breaking eye contact as he pushed me backwards. I was desperately trying to hold on to my composure and seductive look but I was feeling more and more like a prey being stalked by a predator.

The back of my knees hit the side of the bed and he pushes me unnecessarily roughly down on the mattress. I climb backwards towards the head of the bed and Robb climbs after me, never taking his eyes of me. He is looking more and more like the Direwolf on the Stark banner, feral and just waiting to strike.

As uneasy as I am feeling I have to try to give him pleasure. Wrap a man around your finger and he will do anything for you.

"Your most effective weapon is sex and tears, my dear Margaery, but don't forget your words."

That was what grandmother used to say. I have used my words on Robb and they have had little effect. I can't really use tears already so that just leaves sex, mind-blowing sex. With that in mind I plaster one more seductive smirk on my lips and pull him on top off me. I give him a slow, tantalising kiss but Robb seems to have other ideas. He attacks me with a bruising kiss and pries my legs apart, settling himself in between. Unlike the kiss in the Godswood where Robb's lips were soft and inviting, bestowing upon me possible the best kiss I have ever received, now they are harsh and unyielding, dominating my mouth in an almost painful manner. His grip on my thighs tightens when I force out a moan and he stops kissing me, opting to suck and bite his way down my neck, like a hungry wolf.

A shrill cry escapes me when a sharp pain erupts from my lower abdomen. He has the good graze to stop while I adjust to his intrusion. My breathing is ragged and I encourage him to move. He does so rather gently, in contracts to everything else and I let out a breathy moan for his benefit, since it still quite hurts. He picks up his pace and with every moan I give him, the harsher he thrust into me. It's like he is punishing me for something and I don't know what it is. Finally he grunts as he spills his seed into me and he loosens his grip on me.

He slowly withdraws from me and rolls over, his back facing me. I move closer to him, bringing a hand across his waist and kiss his back, right over one circular scar. He tears my hand away from him as if it burned him and gives me one of the deadliest glares I have ever seen, making me shrink back in fear.

"Stay on your side." He says gruffly before lying down again, back facing me.

Never have I been so blatantly rejected and I would be lying if I said it didn't sting a little bit. Actually, it stung a lot. Where was the Robb who walked me through the gardens, telling me stories of him and his siblings when they were younger? Where was the Robb who told me so many things about the North and Winterfell, saying that if I would ever be lady of Winterfell I should at least know the history? Tears sprung into my vision. This was most definitely not him. This was a complete stranger.

I turn around, pulling the furs to cover me, and for the first time since I was a little girl, I allowed myself to cry myself to sleep.

* * *

To say that the following weeks were frustrating must have been the understatement of the century. Robb's behaviour in public truly represented a man deeply in love with his wife but still he wouldn't touch me in private, let alone in our marriage bed. Either he would go to bed early and be asleep when I arrived or it would be the other way around, where I would wait for him until I fell asleep. I never woke up to him still being in bed. He had always left or at least bathed and dressed. It was infuriating.

I quickly learned to make the most of it in public. When we would sit side by side, I would always keep a hand on his. I would always try to get him to talk in public, it was easier because in private he almost wouldn´t look at me. It was strange really, he was the first man to not be affected by my appearance or body. I was completely at a loss.

My words failed me. He didn't seem to be easily manipulated by flowery words. The sex failed me. He hasn't touched me since our wedding night, and then he barely did. The only thing left is my tears and I can hardly do that in private, he isn't around long enough for it to affect him. Neither can I do it in public, he treats me how a lord should treat his lady, carefully giving me no reason to fault him for anything. It is frustrating me to tears. I just want to rip my hair out and scream bloody murder. How can we rule the North together in the future if he doesn't listen to me?

This was troubling me so much that I didn't realize I missed my moon blood. Nor did I realize missing the second one, even my third one I missed. I even dismissed the few mornings I woke up emptying my stomach's contents as something I ate during dinner the evening prior. It wasn't until at a family dinner a little less than four months after our wedding that I even a minor thought to it.

* * *

We were all sitting at the dinner table that had been set in the minor dining hall, the last meal together as Lord Stark, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Alys and I were to leave for Moat Cailin on the morrow. Jon already being there, having left roughly month and a half after the wedding, as he was overseeing the constructions and minding his other lordly duties. We were to meet the Royal entourage who for some unknown reason was not allowed entry to the North. Servants were milling about, carrying food and drinks and we were all talking. Then a servant placed the main course in front of us, some kind of meat, and I gagged. I threw my hands over my mouth and nose and pushed myself from the table. The commotion brought all the attention to me.

A servant came running over with a pot just in time for me to spill the content of my stomach in it. I felt a warm hand on my back, running in smooth circles, and another holding my hair from my face. When I finally emerged from the pot, a goblet of water was thrust in my face and I took it gratefully. Lady Stark gave me a kind smile and took my other hand in hers.

"I hope you will forgive my forwardness, but when was your last moon blood?"

I never imagined to be asked such a personal question in front of my husband's family. But then I started calculating, the blood draining from my face. The last time I had my moon blood was…

"On my way North." I whisper.

A wedding night baby. I got pregnant after only one night.

"That was four moons ago." Arya states. Sansa on the other hand is a bit more enthusiastic;

"I'm going to be an aunt!"

As on cue my dramatic side decides to take over and I promptly faint, straight into the arms of my equally bewildered husband. Not that I know either of those things for certain.

* * *

I insisted on going with them to Moat Cailin despite my pregnancy. I have found it quite pleasant to be pregnant. Not because of the morning sickness or anything like that but rather that Robb pays more attention to me almost pampering me in affection, both in public and privet. Even though he is still distant I find it a big improvement.

Sitting in the carriage with Alys and Sansa was very enlightening. We talked about everything and anything, except mine and Alys' husbands for the sake of Sansa, and it amazed me how they are so knowledgeable on so many areas other than needlework, songs and gossip. We had so much fun, time seemed to fly by. It wasn't until we had half a day's ride left that Sansa asked;

"So, how is married life treating you?"

It was such an innocent question but I froze. How was I going to answer that? Then I remembered. This is Sansa, a three and ten year old girl, she is not going to know whether you lie or not.

"I cannot really say since Jon left so early. But it has been better than my mother told me to expect." Alys said a bit bashfully.

"Oh, don't worry. I am sure that you will have many happy years together." Sansa said surely. "What about you Margaery?"

I put on my best pleased smile.

"Well, I cannot say that I am unhappy. I mean I have a child on the way and Robb is so attentive." I fake gushed.

Sansa raised a red eyebrow.

"Attentive?"

I almost gulped. How does she do that?

"Yes."

"No, 'he is so kind' or 'I wish my father had burned the betrothal contract'. Or hell even a 'he is amazing in bed' would suffice."

Alys and I released shocked gasps at her language.

"Sansa, Robb is your brother." Alys almost whispers.

"Yes and clearly he is not doing his duty."

"But I am pregnant. Of course he has done his duty." I say confused and a little scared of the turn of conversation.

"He has done his duty to the Stark name, sure, but not his duty to you if you have nothing good nor bad to say about him. Now tell me what did he do?"

Sansa fixed me with a look that promised she would have nothing but the truth.

"Robb has been nothing but a kind and res-"

"And now I just know you are lying. Perhaps he has, in public. But everyone that knows him would see how distant he still is. How about behind closed doors, is he a knight in shining armour then?"

I hesitate to answer. I don't know how to. But it seems my silence is all Sansa needed.

"That's what I thought." She then turns to the shutter and opens it calling for Arya. We just sit there in shocked silence. My mind is in overdrive. What is she going to do? How is Robb going to take it? Will he be displeased or, the seven forbid, will he punish me?

Before long Arya rides up to the shutter and raises an eyebrow in much the same fashion Sansa did only minutes before.

"Tell Robb to meet us in the Godswood or he will regret it." Sansa says with a stubborn set in her jaw and a calculating look in her eye.

"Why do I get the feeling he is going to regret it either way?" Arya asks.

"Because he will."

Now that did not sit well with me.

* * *

 **Now before anyone goes on a rant about their ages. I aged them up two years because it eases my conscience and lets face it, I am not the amazing George R. R. Martin.**

 **On another note I love the reviews and favourites, there is something about them that makes me smile.**

– **Until next time lovelies!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Greetings folks!**

 **I honestly don't think I have ever written a chapter so quickly but then again your reviews, follows and favourites really are a great motivator. Now this chapter is in two parts because I honestly couldn't** _ **not**_ **leave a little cliff-hanger there.**

 **Onto more important matters…**

– **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Eddard**

We had barely unpacked our belongings when there was the shout of approaching banners from the south. The castle went into a frenzy trying to get everything ready at the right time and report to the courtyard to greet Robert. Still I could not find my children anywhere. Well, I knew where Jon was, kind of. He was busy being a lord in the middle of the frenzy. By the gods how fast they grow up.

"Lady Margaery," I call as I see her up ahead. She turns to me and halts her step, waiting for me to catch up.

"Lord Stark," She greets me and smiles.

"I was wondering if you had seen… well any of my children really." I ask somewhat sheepishly.

"No, I cannot say I have, My Lord. I am looking for my husband myself. I was just going to check the Godswood." She answers.

"I cannot on good conscience let you go there, My Lady, at least not alone." I say. She looks at me surprised.

"Why ever not?"

"Because the path to the Godswood has not been rebuilt and is most treacherous at the moment. I would not let you go there alone if at all in your condition. If anything were to happen, a master would never be able to reach you in time." I say gravelly and it was true.

Not only was the Moat a gigantic structure, with the maester's rooms at the opposite end to the Godswood, then only the most travelled hallways and rooms were well on their way to former glory. The rest was still bordering treacherous and right out life-threatening to travel, with the crumbling walls and caved in roofs.

"Oh? Well, then perhaps I will go and find Sansa and Arya and you will find my evasive husband." She suggests with a raised eyebrow. I nod and turn to go to the Godswood when something clicked in my mind.

"Evasive?"

If anything Margaery paled a little before catching herself and plastering a smile on her lips.

"I have yet to see him since we have arrived, that is all." She says before practically fleeing down the hall towards the family wing, where all our chambers are. Maybe I should have a word or two with Robb.

* * *

The trip to the Godswood was indeed treacherous. I had tripped three times, fallen through a rotten step and had to jump twice out of the way of a falling rocks that I had accidentally bumped into. Suffice to say, I am not as young as I once was. Finally I stepped onto a well-worn path leading to the Godswood, tree surrounding me instead of walls. The Godswood was very dreary from lack of care and there was at least half a dozen wild plants that had taken root all over the forest. When I finally came to the main weirwood tree I felt a wave of sadness come over me. The tree looked dead. The bark looked ashen instead of white and the few leafs that still hung were more brown or even black than red. To see such an ancient tree look so taken down was like a blow to my stomach. How will the gods ever forgive such a slight? To let a weirwood tree fall so far from glory, the peace and calm they seemed to ooze, is making me sick.

I must ask Jon to find a caretaker for the Godswood, this cannot go on. With a final look over the tree I turn away from it and observe the rest of the little clearing. I let out a sigh as there is yet again no sign of any of my children. As I prepare to head back into the keep a broken branch startles me. The sound seemed overly loud in the eerie silence in the woods but yet it was not so close either. Deciding to investigate I silently remove Ice from my back and carefully move in the direction it came from.

After walking for about five minutes I hear an exited yip and a playful growl before a heavy thunk. I carefully place my back against a tree trunk and peek around it, only to be met with a play fight between Nymeria and Grey Wind. I let out a sigh of relief, at least there is no trouble. I move from around the tree and the pups instantly freeze, sizing me up. Then they bound towards me with exited yips and barks. I squat down and catch them, almost falling backwards under their weight. They sure have grown the last few months. I scratched them behind the ears and rubbed their belly, a small smile playing on my lips.

"Hey there pup. Where are your owners?" I ask them. They just tilted their heads and let the tongue roll out. I just shook my head and in fake excitement went;

"Grey Wind, where is Robb? Find Robb. Yes, good boy, go find Robb." And Grey wind shoot right up and yipped me to follow. Nymeria just rolled over again. I shook my head as I picked her up and went after Grey Wind. After going between and around dozens of trees and finally letting Nymeria down as she wanted to run we were met by another direwolf, Lady. At least they are all together and we do not have to spend more time on this hide and seek nonsense.

The three pups ran around jumping and nipping each other though Lady was very smart about it, then I mean hiding behind me. After a few more minutes I started to hear voices. Raised and furious voices. My curiosity was peeked and as we got closer I could distinguish the voices as Robb and Sansa, and they had clearly been fighting for quite some time if the hoarseness of their voices was any indication. But it was when I could hear their words that I got confused as hell.

"-you, MARGAERY. IS. NOT. JEYNE!"

"I know that! She is still a southerner. A schemer. I will not have her undermining me at every turn or possibly sleeping around behind my back."

"How can you say that? Are you disowning our mother? Are you accusing our mother of infidelity? Are you saying that every single one of us is just a bastard of her… her… her flings!?" Sansa almost chocked on her rage.

"No-"

"But how can we be sure? I mean we look more like mother than father, well not Arya. How can you prove that you are not Uncle Brandon's? Huh?"

"Now you are just putting words in my mouth, I said-"

"And we are getting way off topic." I heard Arya say in a loud voice.

What is going on? I kept on walking towards the argument, the voices steadily getting louder.

"Arya is right. Now, we wanted to talk to you about your wife." Sansa began a lot calmer.

"Sansa…" Robb growled in warning.

"No, I will not back off. You cannot treat your own wife like this. This indifference and coldness and… and… it is despicable. It is a wonder that you even got her pregnant since you only bedded her on your wedding night." Sansa ranted.

"Keep your nose out of my marriage. You are not a part of it!" Robb shouted.

"You cannot continue as you have. As a woman myself I find it horrible how you treat her as if she is beneath your notice. Just try to let her think that you listen to her. Or better yet, actually listen to her, maybe she has some good ideas that can be if use."

"Really, I do not need marriage advice from you. You have not yet married. Just leave it be." Robb groaned frustrated.

"Actually I have married twice."

"Oh, yes I remember. You married the imp after a failed betrothal to an incestuous bastard-"

"Robb?" Arya tried to intervene as I entered the clearing.

"-Then fled when he was convicted for murdering a king, only to have another failed betrothal to-"

"Robb."

"-the heir to the Eyrie and, wait for it… marry YET another bastard, this time a sadist who BURNED down Winterfell and held a man who-"

"Robb." Sansa yelled as she also took notice of me.

"-KILLED our brothers, as a servant! Let's not forget that said husband was also killed, leaving you widowed. Twice. You are just a fountain of good marriage advice, are you not?" Robb said sarcastically with a sneer on his face.

"Robb!" Sansa and Arya screamed.

"What?" He spat. The only answer he got was a finger pointed in my direction and as he turned I could see the colour drain from his face as he realized he was overheard. There was a long silence where nobody wanted to make the first move and I was trying to process all that I heard. It was not going very well so I did the only logical thing.

"WHAT?!" I thundered to which each of them flinched.

* * *

I was stunned. How could this be? They must be lying, so I told them so;

"You are lying."

They looked at each other expatriated.

"Father, we are telling the truth. Just ask us anything. "

"Anything. Anything!?"

"Father, calm down." Sansa tried to placate.

"Calm down! You want me to calm down. You just told me that you died and came back from the future. A future that I am dead, your mother is dead and someone that I have never meet but you claim to be my son!"

"Father, please-" Arya begins.

"No, I will not take part in this nonsense. You will seize these lies and tell me the truth!" I was mad, no correction, I was enraged. How dare they lie to my face? How dare THEY to tell me to calm down. I have done all I could for them. I have let them be with their own secrets, only showing them that if they should need it, I would be there for them. Always. And now they have the gall to lie.

"Father-"Robb tries and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"No!" I thunder and shake it off, only to misstep and fall, straight into the pond.

"FATHER!" was the last thing I heard before being enclosed in the cold embrace of northern water. I saw Robb and Arya both jumped after me and reach out but for the life of me I could not reach back. They were too far away. Oh, by the Gods, please let them live.

My cloak was too heavy. My boots were too heavy. My clothes soaked through in the matter of seconds and I could feel the cold seeping into my bones. I tried to trash, to move, to do something to get back to the surface but I kept sinking further. The water was getting darker and my lungs started protesting. It was then I truly began to panic. I felt like I was being sucked down into the dark abyss below, the pressure leaving the little air in my lungs behind. I felt dizziness creep upon me and a pounding begin in my temples. This is it. This is where I leave the world behind.

Forgive me, Cat.

I kept my promise, Lyanna. He is safe.

Just as I was succumbing to the darkness, I felt a hand brush against mine.

"Robb!"

My eyes shot open as I tried to scream. The water invading my mouth and as I heave and choke all I see is tuff of dark auburn locks. Then cold darkness envelops me.

.

.

.

Suddenly I breach the surface and as I gasp for air I am pulled towards the bank of the pond. I clamber up on the leaf spread ground, feeling the thin layer of soft snow under my fingertips. Having gotten the heaving and gasping for air under control I finally look around for Sansa. But she is nowhere to be found. I see that I am in the same clearing as before, the same pond, the same weirwood trees. But then the temperature of the snow registers, it is not cold. Come to think of it, there is no wind. Looking beside me I see the auburn head of my wheezing son and quickly scramble over to him.

Clamping a hand on his shoulder I was torn between hugging him in relief of seeing him alive and berating him for jumping after me. I settled for a little bit of both. Grabbing him in a fierce bear hug and muttering;

"You stupid, idiot boy. Jumping into cold water fully clothed. No, jumping at all. Stupid, brass and completely reckless boy. Hear me?! Reckless and stupid."

He chuckled weakly, hugging me back.

"Apologies father. I just… I cannot lose you again. Not so soon after getting you back."

His almost too quiet admission sent a shot of sorrow to my heart. The pain in his voice chopping at my resistance for believing them, a piece by piece.

Looking over Robb's shoulder I see another mass of leather and fur, considerably smaller than either me or Robb.

"Arya!"

I call for her and Both Robb and I run towards her. She slowly rolls over onto her back and looks at us from underneath her lashes as we crouch down by her.

"I am never, ever, again getting near any kind of water in bigger container than a cup."

I couldn't help it, I really couldn't. I burst out laughing. Tears of happiness freely streamed down my face as I grabbed Arya in a hug, never intending to let go.

"Now is this not heart-warming."

The voice breaking us out of our own little world and all three of us wrench around, looking for the offender. Across the pond were two rather large stones, occupied by a man of twenty and a boy no older than three and ten, a massive silvery grey direwolf between them. The boy was clad in typical northern clothes and a heavy fur cloak on his shoulders. The Stark emblem shown proudly on both the cloak and doublet. Though the clothes indicated a Stark the boy himself looked more… Tully. His hair, though darker than Robb's, was still red and his eyes were clear blue. He had a small smile on his lips and a knowing look in his eyes that put me instantly on edge.

The man was also dressed in similar clothing with the Stark direwolf howling on his chest and cloak but his face was all Stark. A smirk adorned his lips in an all too familiar expression that I had not seen in almost two decades.

After a long stunned silence one word was practically shouted by the three very wet Starks. One in disbelief and two in hopeful joy;

"Bran!?"

* * *

 **There you go. I would love to see if you have figured it out yet. But none the less, this little "mystery" will be revealed in next chapter, or second part of this one. However you want to see it. Live, love and review!**

– **Until next time!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Greetings folks! I am truly sorry for the late update, but now I have a beta, Gin no Kitsune, who has been amazing!**

 **Anyway on to more important things, THANK YOU GUYS! For your quick response to my plea for help, it means the world. It also helped that you were all pretty much in agreement about what you wanted.**

– **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Eddard**

"Bran!"

I couldn't believe my eyes. Before me sat my own brother. My brother who has been dead for almost two decades. Did I mention that I couldn't believe my eyes? I ran around the pond, determined to at least make use of this opportunity; even though it was a dream. Bran stood up and spread his arms to greet me just as I grasped into him in a fierce hug.

As I let go of my brother, intending to introduce him to my children, I saw them engaged in their own reunion with the boy still sitting on the stone. The pure happiness shining in their eyes made me pause. It had been a long time since I saw any of them content. There had always been this underlining tension or mistrust. I cleared my throat, breaking the emotional moment. They all turned to me. The smile on Arya's face nearly blinded me.

"Father, this is our brother, Bran!" The enthusiasm barely contained in her little body.

"Technically I do not exist, Arya." The boy, Bran, said amused.

"Well, Father. This is our brother, Brandon the non-existent." Robb said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"That is as good a name as any, I suppose. With all the Brandon's on our family tree we must somehow distinguish between them." The boy, Brandon, sighed. At my side, Bran simply laughed.

"Well this is my brother, Bran," I introduced. "Bran this is my eldest son Robb and younger daughter Arya."

"Oh, I know. Have been watching them a fair bit." Bran answered, his shark-like grin turning serious. It caused me to frown with confusion as Bran began to explain.

"There is awfully little to do when you are dead. You get bored really quickly. Especially people like me that have some kind of a _'higher purpose'_ and cannot succumb to the final sleep of peace."

"Wait a minute. I remember you." Arya claimed as she scrunched up her face.

How could she possible remember someone she had never met before?

"You were the Stark that I saw before I woke up. You sent us back!" Arya exclaimed and pointed at Bran.

"Well, yes and no, little wolf. I kept you from succumbing to the final sleep. When my dearest nephew here made his deal I knew I did the right thing so I decided to give you some parting words."

"What have you seen?" I asked Bran. By the look on his face it could not be anything good. Bran looked towards Robb and Arya, both of whom gave a solemn nod, then to the younger Brandon.

The direwolf moved closer as the younger Brandon leaned over. He grabbed the fur at the direwolf's neck and the direwolf carried him over to the pond. There the boy got situated before looking me straight in the eye.

"There is no way to undo this."

The seriousness in his tone and expression threw me off a little but I nodded, unsure of what he was talking about. Brandon then put his hand torturously slowly over the pond, then lowering it slowly. I started to ask myself why he was torturing me so. Robb, Sansa and Arya had all told me some of the lives they led, why would I want to see the proof of it? As Brandon touched the pond his eyes turned all white and the pond rippled. Images started to appear. I was transfixed.

* * *

As I saw myself, sitting at my desk in my solar with Sansa before me, confusion began settle in.

"Sansa, the King and I have arranged a betrothal between yourself and Prince Joffrey."

She beams at the other me and almost jumps for joy in her seat.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am marrying prince Joffrey! This is a dream come true!"

I did not know what this was but it only served to fill me with dread.

She is packing her trunk, with Nymeria sitting and watching her every move, when the door opens and Jon stepped in. He hands her a long, thin sword. A bright smile crosses Arya's features. Jon then says:

"Remember the first lesson of sword fighting."

"What is it?" Arya asked eagerly.

"Stick 'em with the pointy end."

The boy, Bran, is standing in a window at the top of the broken tower, watching the golden Lannister twins engage in pleasures not meant for sibling relations. Suddenly the Queen screams something and the Kingslayer grabs Bran. Some words are exchanged but I am unable to hear. What I do hear is;

"The things I do for love."

The Kingslayer pushes Bran out the window causing the boy to fall down in a broken heap on the frozen ground. Then the direwolves howl.

We are standing at crossroads, Jon and I, perched atop our horses.

"Who was my mother?" he asks.

"When we meet again, I will tell you about your mother."

"There is another wolf." The snide voice and blonde locks of Cersei Lannister are seldom misplaced.

"She does not mean Lady, does she? No, Lady is good! Lady did not do anything!" Sansa begs, tears streaming down her face as she clutches my hand.

"Lady is innocent!" Arya screams outraged.

Walking outside, I watch myself, barely holding down the contents of my stomach, as I bring a knife to Lady's neck and efficiently end her life.

Looking around I see the Wall, stretching far in both direction. Castle Black is before me and new recruits, consisting of thieves, rapers and murderers, are practicing. The master at arms shouts to the recruits:

"Look at this one, he has lived in a castle his whole life, always warm and pampered. He even has a castle training. What say you boys? Should we give him a lesson of the real world?"

No sooner did he say that, did all the recruits swarm Jon with their training swords, aiming to maim.

Arya was running away from Goldcloaks, running for her life. Her little sword in hand. She was stopped by a fat boy.

"You are the Stark girl they are looking for. I will get a pretty penny for you."

He then makes a grab for Arya. But she is quicker and stabs the boy with the sword. The boy falls down, hands over his wound and shock clear in his eyes as they glaze over. His final breath leaves his lips.

The scene shifts to the throne room in King's Landing, far more golden than I remember but still the similar. Atop the throne sits, or rather slouches, a golden boy with a crown with a smug expression on his face. Sansa is on her knees before him and the whole court.

"Please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my Father. I know his crime and he must be punished, but all I ask is mercy."

She pleads. She pleads for my life. She never should have had to. The shame that fills me is unbearable.

"He is calling you south." Theon states. Robb looks at Theon, a letter in is hands.

"O, I will go south; with the might of the north behind me. Call the banners!"

Suddenly, all I see is white snow and animal skin. Jon is standing by the fire with another man. The man is looking at a map hanging at one of the animal skins.

"We have to go south. Only death awaits us if we stay on this side of the Wall. White walkers and whigts… terrible, terrible fate."

Jon only nods, even though the man cannot see him. Suddenly the man turns to Jon in earnest.

"You will help us won't you, Snow? You would not tattle us to the Watch."

"Of course not Rayder. I have left the watch behind."

Looking around the throng of people, I vaguely recognize the houses of King's Landing. Up on the steps of Baelor stand the Kingsguard, the Small Council, Cersei Lannister and the King, Joffrey. Amongst them stands Sansa, smiling demurely at the King. Looking around for Arya, I see her behind a statue in the middle of the courtyard. There is commotion and I see myself being dragged up towards the platform. I do not hear what I say but the reaction of the crowd is not a favourable one. The king holds up his hand, asking for silence before delivering his speech.

"My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch, stripped of all titles and powers. There he would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

He smiles at Sansa and I breathe a sigh of relief, but that is short lived.

"But they have the soft hearts of women! As long as I'm your King, treason shall never go unpunished! Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!"

The crowd roars its consent and Ser Ilyn draws out Ice and takes off my head in one swift motion. I just stare in horror. Sansa, who had been begging the king to reconsider, faints and Arya cannot take her horror filled eyes off of my mutilated body. I felt like emptying the contents of my stomach but cannot rip myself away from the horror show playing out before me. The last thing I see before the scene changes is the king's sadistic grin as he watches my head roll down the steps.

I am standing amongst the northern lords, with some river lords in the midst, as a great argument is going on. Suddenly the GreatJon stands, shouting for silence. Spitting on the ground, getting the other Lords to laugh, then continuing, he draws his sword and points at Robb at the head of the hall.

"There sits the only king I will kneel to! To the King in the North!"

"The King in the North!" is echoed by all in the hall as they kneel at my son's feet. Northmen and Riverlords alike.

"The King in the North!"

At this moment I had never been more proud.

Jon, back in the black garb of the Nights Watch, stands with his back to a pole in the courtyard of Castle Black, surrounded by Black brothers. One by one the step up to him and stab him in the abdomen.

"For the Watch."

The chant echoes through the night and they leave him in the snow. Bleeding. Dead.

I see Robb standing before a weirwood tree that is most definitely not in the north, judging by how broken and gaunt it looks. He has the Stark cloak around his shoulders and a few other people stand with him. Catelyn, Theon, the Blackfish, Edmure and a woman I do not recognize. Then a man leading a woman comes up the path to the weirwood tree and Robb smiles, but the woman hesitates to return it. During the whole ceremony she keeps looking at the woman, who I am certain now is her mother, and her mother just keeps sending her warning looks. I have a very bad feeling about this.

"What is that?" comes a voice of a young boy as he approaches Sansa in the snow. Looking around I recognize the Eyrie and the falcon brooch on the boy's cloak, which makes the boy the youngest Arryn.

"It is Winterfell, Lord Robert." Sansa says and shows a snow castle resembling Winterfell greatly.

"I cannot recall what it looks like, I am trying to remember."

Suddenly young Robert stands up and kicks the snow castle down…

Winterfell is burning. Chaos ensues, the clang of steel meeting steel, screams of women and children, smoke everywhere and the banners of Bolton and Greyjoy proudly on display. Men adorned in the colours of both houses strike each other down and in a faraway corner. Trying to pass the raging battle and run out the gates are two wolves, a man, a woman and two boys. Bran and Rickon. Tears streaming down their faces at the state of which their home has fallen to.

Jon steps inside the hall and all sound dies out.

"You… you are dead…?"

One manages to stutter.

"It appears the gods are not finished with me."

Jon answers and sits down with a bowl of broth in hand.

There is a battle going on. Nothing else could be this much chaos. There are trees all around and men in Lannister armour fight northmen with great difficulty. It seems to be an ambush. I see Robb hacking and slashing away at men around him and Grey Wind tearing out their throats and I cannot help but be filled with pride. My boy is doing well. A movement out of the corner of my eye catches my eye. There I see the Kingslayer putting down men like a kitchen knife through butter, and he is heading for my boy. A feeling of dread washes over me. This cannot be it, my son dead by the Kingslayer's hand. I cannot take my eyes of scene before me and to my relief the Kingslayer is apprehended and dragged away in chains. I sigh in relief. But I did not enjoy it for long.

Again this damned Throne room. What could it worse this time? The whole court is there and that bloody prick still sits on that thrice forsaken throne.

"Ser Meryn!"

A knight of the Kingsguard steps forward and lifts an armoured hand as if to strike someone.

"Leave her face. I like her pretty."

The bastard says with a sinister smile. I was going over all the ways to kill someone painfully, and believe me, there were many, when I heard the first slap and pained cry. A very familiar pained cry. My head whipped around so quickly I thought I had given myself a whiplash as I took in the scene unfolding before me. There are two Kingsguard stripping and beating my daughter. _My daughter!_

A red haze passes over my eyes and I charge, only to find the scene become blurry. It is then that I remember the pond and a new wave of shame fills me.

Then they bring out a whip. I flinch at the crack that comes as it connects with my daughter's bare back. Another thought sticks me; back? Whip?

" _Sansa on the other hand has up to thirty slashes across her back that can be after no other than a whip, and those scars are not very well healed either as they are more transparent than any of the other scars amongst them."_

They are a whisper in the back of my mind, Maester Luwin's words, and a new crushing wave of shame washes over me, along with a good amount of guilt. It did not lessen with the prick's parting words.

"You will answer to every one of your traitor brother victories."

I see Bran being held by Hodor, the stable boy, and Rickon holding a hand of a wildling woman I did not know.

"No! You cannot go!" Rickon shouts, distraught.

"Rickon, I have to, it is important that I get to the tree." Bran answers calmly, trying to soothe the little boy.

"No! Then you won't come back! Father left with Sansa and Arya and they did not come back! Mother left and she did not come back! Robb left and he did not come back! If you go then you will not come back!"

I hear the tune before I see anything. That gods be damned song, the Rains of Castamere. But what I see fills me with so much terror, I wished I had never looked in the pond in the first place. I recognize the great hall at the Twins, Walder Frey sitting at the high table laughing away at the carnage before him. The lords of the North are being slaughtered, and the same woman from before, now with a little baby bump, gets stabbed repeatedly in the stomach. But the worst was not over. Robb stands in the middle of the floor being filled with arrows. Every arrow was like a stab in my own heart. Then Roose Bolton walks up to him and a flare of hope surfaces in my heart, only to be crushed so harshly as Bolton drew a sword and plunges it in my son's stomach.

"The Lannister's send their regards."

The quiet drawl of the leech lord is drowned out by a shrill scream. I look up and saw Cat, my beloved Cat, watching our son die before her eyes, her cutting some girl's throat only to have her own cut by a Frey. Tears flood my eyes and I cannot take it any longer. This is enough. Unfortunately, the pond was not finished and I find myself looking anyway.

There is carnage everywhere, blood flowing in rivers, bodies everywhere, anguished cries and the Stark banner on fire. I see Arya ducking behind a barrel as s few men with crossbows run over to an enormous wooden cage, aim, and shoot. The last howl of a direwolf can be heard echoing through the night. It seems to keep echoing in my ears, never seizing. As Arya turns around at a chant, her eyes fill with horror. I follow her gaze and I freeze. There, atop of a horse, was the body of my son, with the head of his direwolf attached instead of his own. And the chant replaces the dying cry of a wolf;

"The King in the north!"

It was far more mocking this time around.

Rickon is lying in a cave, surrounded by Shaggydog, and looking out in the snow-covered forest. Then the wildling woman appeared, hands full of rabbits.

"Why can I not go with you to hunt, Osha?" Rickon asks. The woman, Osha, smiles.

"Because the people of Skaagos are not very friendly, little lord, and you are much safer here."

Skaagos? What on earth is my son doing on Skaagos?

Arya stands before a large door, half white, half black. She just looks at the door as if contemplating the world's problems. The door is vaguely familiar but I cannot seem to remember. Then, as if having made a life changing decision, Arya ascends the few stone stairs and knocks. It is only when the door opens to reveal only darkness that I remember: this is the House of Black and White, the home of the Faceless Men.

There is snow everywhere, as far as the eye can see. Only one sturdy weirwood tree is up ahead. Hodor is carrying Bran and a girl I have not seen before follows after them. They find a cave underneath the tree and as they walk in, they see the tree's roots, spanning miles all around the cave. A man sits in the roots; an ancient man.

"You are the three eyed raven?" Bran asks.

The man opens his eyes and answers;

"I have gone by any names; greenseer, bastard, Lord Commander, Bloodraven… but my mother called me Brynden. I have been waiting a long time for you."

There is a plain field. Armies on two sides, facing each other. One displaying Bolton, the other Stark. Rows and rows of men armed and ready for battle. Jon stands before the Stark side ready to lead them into battle and the other side a man who looks suspiciously like Roose Bolton. Suddenly, the Bolton drags forth a boy, Rickon, lifting a sword to his neck. Then he pushes Rickon away from him and Rickon runs towards Jon. Then an arrow flies passed Rickon's head. I watch in horror as arrow after arrow flies passed him, barely missing by inches. And then the worst happens. An arrow hits its mark. Then another. And another. And Rickon moves no more.

A village, again clouded in snow, and blood, black brothers and wildlings fighting side by side. It is madness. Who are they fighting? Themselves? Out of nowhere Jon is thrown across the road as a tall, white, ice man with eerily ice blue eyes stalks towards him. He swings his sword at Jon who manages to duck and then bringing his own sword up to meet the White Walker's, but barely. The last thing I see is those ice blue eyes staring me down as Jon lay lifeless on the ground… again… dead…

The boy, Brandon, sits by a magnificent weirwood tree, his hand on its bark.

"Old Gods, masters of Destiny, Time and Life. I, a humble servant, ask for a gift, an opportunity for direwolves to run around the North again, to prosper as they have done for eight thousand years before. A change to continue for another eight thousand years. I ask, I beg, I plead, please hear my plea."

A single tear runs down his face and I cannot help but feel for him. He is a lone wolf, asking for a pack.

" _There is a price."_

The voice seems to be everywhere at once, strong and imposing to the point of suffocation. But a determined expression crossed Brandon's features.

"Anything."

* * *

Finally the water stilled and no more images flashed across it. I was grateful for I was barely keeping it together. Or perhaps I wasn't. Maybe it was just an illusion my mind made up and I am truly curled up in a ball, in my own vomit, on the forest floor and bawling my eyes out. Guilt, shame, disgust, it was all floating in my chest, clouding my mind and the biggest coherent thought I could muster was;

 _I failed._

A hand on my shoulder caused my downward spiral to come to a screeching halt. I opened my eyes and looked up into my brother's solemn face, so like my own. His eyes shone with worry and flickered to his right a few times before I worked up the courage to follow his line of sight. And it broke my heart.

Robb stood rigid. His face frozen as if carved from marble but a snowstorm raged in his ice blue eyes. All happiness had been sucked out of Arya as she just stood there, a dead look in her eyes. I suppose that is a Stark trait, I should know, I do that too. When a Stark gets upset he puts on a frozen marble mask and you don't know what to expect anymore. With that mask on a Stark is the most dangerous.

Young Brandon still sat there on the stone, absentmindedly petting the great direwolf beside him, and if I ever doubted he was a Stark before, I couldn't now. He had the frozen marble mask on. And he looked exactly like a younger Robb.

I swallowed back the despair, locked it away and put on my own mask.

* * *

Bran led us towards the pond and I was already dreading the journey back.

"Will I see you again, brother?" I couldn't help but ask.

Bran turned to me.

"The future is never certain. Maybe we will, maybe we won't. But rest assured brother, you will never walk alone."

I couldn't help but smile.

"When did you grow so wise?"

Bran's only answer was a broad grin as he clasped a hand on my shoulder, the other going behind my head and touched our foreheads together to make sure he had my attention.

"Now remember brother, honour is all good and dandy, but you are no Arryn. You are a Stark of Winterfell and ice runs in your veins. Those southern flowers wilt at the mere thought of a long winter while we relish it. We have weathered the storm for thousands of years and will continue for thousands more. Honour is not going to keep you warm when winter comes. Prevail brother, live for the both of us. Winter is coming."

We locked eyes as I returned our house words, a warning and a farewell all in one.

"Winter is coming."

With that Bran grinned one final time and pushed me in the pond. Figures, that he would push me back. I bet he has been waiting for it the whole time.

The journey back was much the same as the journey there. Extremely dark, cold and I was panicking even if I was better prepared for it. Finally surfacing I could hear Sansa's frantic calls as well as Robb and Arya popping up around me. Clambering out of the pond and being assaulted by a worried Sansa, I settle against the weirdwood tree. The cold, biting wind seeping through my soaking clothes soothes my troubled mind. The lives my children led. Full of danger, full of blood and hunger and loneliness. Devoid of all love or affection and worst of all, separated. They were the lone wolf. The lone wolf that died.

The earth began to vibrate a little and the direwolves looked to the south, ears alert. The king must have arrived.

"You girls go, greet the king. We will be right behind you." I say and wave them away. I had to have a word with Robb. They both give us a worried look before turning around and disappearing into the trees. I wait a few minutes, just to make sure they have left and then ask quietly;

"Is it true?"

I see no need to beat around the bush.

"Is what true?"

He is avoiding me. It is all in his body language. How he sits a little too stiff but still hunched. How he tactfully ignores me and just plays with Grey Wind. He is hiding something and preparing to lie. He never was good at either to me. Could fool Cat though, maybe she is just so easily fooled.

"Have you tactfully ignored your lady wife's existence, disregarding her feelings, treating her as a common criminal, with disdain and revulsion?"

He retreats further into himself and a slight flush of shame enters his cheeks.

"She is a southerner." He barely mutters.

I sigh and sit next to him.

"And so is your mother." I remind him gently.

"And she does not understand the North," he retorts petulantly.

"No, she doesn't." I admit. "And probably never will. She is too set in her ways. Her silly southern ways. But I love her. It is not a love that is sung in the songs. It is love that grew from respect, from hard work and iron will to make things as easy as possible for you and your siblings. Marriage is hard work, Robb. It is constant compromising, constant communication, putting your partner's needs before your own, taking your partner's opinion into account. It is hard. But the foundation of every successful marriage has to be trust. You cannot assume nor can you decide what your partner wants. You have to trust that she will do well by you and do the same in return." I say seriously hoping that at least some of it penetrates the mile thick walls he has whenever his wife is mentioned.

There were a few moments that we just sat there in pensive silence.

"You know, I never thought I would be disappointed in you but now I cannot help but be. You dishonoured the name Stark with your treatment of Lady Margaery and you dishonoured all teaching your mother and I have tried to give you."

There was a light sniffle and I saw Robb roughly brush a tear from his eye. He swallowed a few times before forcing out;

"I am sorry."

"Do not say that to me." I begin, turning Robb towards me. Grasping a hand behind his head and making sure he has all his attention on me, I continue very seriously; "Say that to Margaery. She is the one you wronged, with her lies your salvation."

* * *

 **What do you think? Up to your standards? Makes up for the late update?**

– **Until next time!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Greetings dear readers. Here is the next chapter. Hopefully he is what you expected and more... well one can always hope.**

 **\- Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Alys**

The banner of the crown was waving in the distance. The castle was in chaos, with everyone trying to sort out the castle and get into to their spots to greet the royal party. Just as I walked out the doors to the main courtyard I spotted Margaery wandering about. I quickly waved her over and entwined our hands.

"Who are you looking for?" I asked curiously.

"No one in particular. I was simply waiting for any of my in-laws to present themselves."

We stepped out into the courtyard and down the steps.

"Do you know where they are?"

"Still in the Godswood, I imagine." My eyes widened at that.

"Was Sansa truly serious about that?"

"By the Seven, do you think I will have a husband when they reappear?" Her eyes held some actual panic, making me choke down my laughter.

"Of course you will. He may be a jerk but he is still their family."

"Of course you are right. Silly me, my hormones are really all over the place." Margaery laughed and I joined her as we took our place on either side of Jon, who is already there. I gave him a small smile and he squeezed my hand lightly in response. We heard the hooves of the horses clatter against the drawbridge as they began to stream into the courtyard. I can see Jon observe each and every member with suspicion as he discreetly looks around, probably for the rest of his family.

"We seem to be a few members short." Margaery remarked dryly to which Jon answered a simple 'Aye', continuing his observation.

Suddenly Jon kneeled by my side and everyone follows. He must have seen the king. I fixed my gaze on the cobblestoned courtyard floor, listening as the horses come to a halt and a wheelhouse almost breaks at the sudden halt. Or at least according to the loud groan emitted from it. A few grunts and heavy footsteps later black boots appeared before us. As Jon rises to his feet, the courtyard does as well. After assisting Margaery to her feet he says in a loud clear voice:

"You honour us with your presence, Your Grace. Moat Cailin is yours." And bowed his head.

I had a hard time trying to conceal my shock. That was the king? The Demon of the Trident was no more than a fat, leering drunkard? And he was drunk, or well on his way to be by the state of his breath. After a few minutes of a rather uncomfortable silence, the king boomed:

"By the Seven, you look just like Ned." The shock was evident on his face.

"Thank you, Your Grace. There is no one I would rather be alike." Jon answers evenly.

"Aye, a better man is hard to find." The king said wistfully. He then turned his leering gaze towards Margaery and me.

"Who are these lovely ladies?"

"Pardon my manners, Your Grace," Jon said, taking my hand. I take a step forward and curtsy as he continues. "This is my wife, Alys of House Karstark, Lady of Moat Cailin."

"Your Grace, it is an honour to host you and your family for the duration of your stay here in the North." Jon continued. I knew that the king and his entourage were being barred entrance further into the North but I knew not why, not that any of the northerners were complaining. The fewer Lannisters, the less trouble.

"And this is my brother's wife, Margaery of House Tyrell, future Lady of Winterfell."

Jon proceeded with his introduction and Margaery curtsied, though not as deep or dignified as she normally does. It was obviously hard with her being almost five months pregnant.

"Your Grace, it is wonderful to meet you, your heroics on the Trident and in the Greyjoy rebellion precede you. My father-in-law, Lord Stark, has been very eager to see you again."

And I thought that I had beaten all her southern bullshit out of her. It was sickening watching this ass kissing. But the king devoured it and beamed. With that, I can actually see that he was handsome at one time.

"Ned is here?"

But any further reply was cut short by the arrival of the Stark sisters and my mouth dropped open in shock at the picture Arya presents. Her clothes, cloak and hair are soaked through and dragging behind her. There are red leafs in her hair and mud stains along the bottom of her cloak and overdress and snow here and there, stuck to her. I heard Jon snort in amusement beside me. The sound was quite loud in the suddenly all too silent courtyard.

"Did you win?" Jon remarked, amused.

Sansa smirked and Arya huffed, clearly offended.

"Of course."

"Do I want to know what the opponent looks like?" Jon quirks an eyebrow.

"Probably not." Arya shrugged nonchalantly. Jon laughed and proceeded to introduce his sisters to the King. He was quickly interrupted by the King's jovial shout;

"Ned!"

As one the courtyard looked in the direction the king was looking. And my jaw dropped again because Arya was right. Somehow her opponent in whatever they were doing, looked worse. A part of it may be that they were two grown men. Both Lord Stark and Robb stood there unaware or uncaring of the stares they were receiving. They both moved closer and bowed before the king but he was quick to right them up. Clasping Lord Stark's shoulders in his big hands, the king exclaimed with amusement in his eyes;

"Gods Ned! What possessed you to have a mud fight with a ten year old girl?"

Lord Stark's eyes flickered to Arya for just a second before opening his mouth to answer but Robb beat him to it;

"Arya ambushed me in the Godswood, Your Grace, and father had the unfortunate luck to be caught in the middle of it."

"Yes, then I decided to teach them a lesson which consequently landed Robb and I in the pond before the heart tree." Lord Stark said and there was a beat of silence before the king roared with laughter. The King then proceeded to introduce us to the Lannisters, or the royal family I suppose. The Queen was beautiful but her nose was permanently stuck in the air and with a sneer on her lips. She looked almost as disgusted at having Jon kiss her hand as having Robb and Lord Stark do the same. The Crown Prince was worse. A pompous self entitled coward if I ever saw one. The princess was alright but I could not look at her without being reminded of her mother. It was sickening. The younger prince was very sweet, if a little chubby and shy. Most definitely would not have guessed him being a Lannister spawn if he did not look it. On our way inside the King turned to Lord Stark.

"What are you doing here Ned? I was coming North to see you." The King asked a bit put out.

"It is cold up North, Your Grace. I would not want any of your family to freeze on the way." I was shocked that he managed to say that with a straight face.

"But Ned, I wanted to see Winterfell again." The King all but whined making my eyebrows rise up to my hairline. I looked at Jon who simply shrugged.

"I am afraid that Winterfell is unprepared to play host for such a large party, Your Grace. We have been preparing the Moat for your arrival." Lord Stark answered diplomatically. I am amazed at his patience.

"Stop with this Your Grace nonsense, Ned! You are my brother and will address me as such." The King huffed, completely irritated.

"As you wish… Robert." Lord Stark said with a small smile. The King beamed back.

"There you go Ned. Now I would hug you, but I prefer to keep the swamp in the swamp."

The king laughed and slapped Lord Stark's shoulder. We continued walking, eventually stopping on a bridge overlooking a part of the training yard full of the newest recruits.

"Is the castle not under construction? Why did I not see anyone making repairs to the battlements or the watch towers?" the king asked with curiosity.

"With word your arrival, we decided to focus first on making most of the castle habitable. After all, we live in a time of peace so there is no treat of attack." I answered in my most respectful and pleasant tone. The look Margaery and Sansa were giving me told me that some of my usual bite was evident.

"The men you are training are pitiful. It looks as if they have never held a blade in their hands before." The King scoffed, letting his gaze sweep over the recruits. I had to agree, they were, but this was their third week in training so there was still room for improvement, and time.

"They haven't."

Jon said, not even bothering to stop while leaving a gobsmacked king in his wake. To his credit he recovered quickly and speed up.

"Don't we live in a time of peace? We do not need to train farm boys in the art of war."

"Winter is coming." Robb answered.

"You bloody Starks and your bloody winter." The King grumbled and I had to hold back some giggles.

* * *

It was at the welcoming feast that my first impression of the Royal family was cemented. I was starting to dread the upcoming weeks of hosting the royal party.

"This is going to be a very long month." I muttered and Jon snorts quietly beside me.

The king was feeling up every serving girl that passed him and finishing whole barrels of wine by himself. The Queen sat at the high table by herself, giving underhanded complements and straight out insulting everything in sight. The crown prince was boasting about all of his miraculously successful hunting trips. The Crown Prince's sense of self- entitlement was been rubbing more than one northerner the wrong way.

It is quite clear that Arya would like to be anywhere else at the moment. She sat in her seat at the high table after Tommen and Myrcella had been sent to bed, glaring at everyone and everything like it had personally insulted her. I believe that the queen is seemed to be on the receiving end of a majority of the glares.

Sansa is living the dream and is dancing the night away with all the knights and lords in the room, her laughter ringing in the hall as she danced with Ser Barristan Selmy.

Lord Stark sat in his seat closest to the Queen and handles her insults with grace I didn't even think existed. I would have expected that he would accept the insults with a placid smile and his own veiled insults but he doesn't. Instead he has donned an ice mask, which somehow manages to be more unnerving than a placid smile. Robb and Jon have the same mask up and it shows how alike their features really are.

In the short time I've been married to Jon, I have learned that that mask can only mean two things.

They are either keeping their temper in check or are biding their time. Hoping for the former, I reach out and intertwine my fingers with Jon's. Some of the tension in his shoulders seems to melt away but not enough to ease my worries.

I looked to my right to see Margaery cautiously put her own hand on Robb's, making him even tenser. I have to say that I admire her bravery and resilience for dealing with him. I once ranted about Robb's poor treatment of Margaery to Jon. All Jon said that he was aware of Robb's apprehension of his wife and that he, along with his sisters, were working on it with his brother. I found it funny he called it apprehension. I watched as Margaery marched on and took Robb's hand and placed it over her baby bump. I don't think I have ever seen such variety of emotion flash across Robb's face in the entire time that I have known him.

* * *

Over the past few months, Margaery and Sansa have become very good friends of mine. Margaery especially has become my confidant, mostly because I am not comfortable talking about Sansa's brother intimately in front of her and I think that the same goes for Margaery. Well, if there was any intimate moments for her to talk about. She mostly just vents her frustrations of Robb's elusiveness and what she calls " _The Wall"_ that he apparently has around himself.

"I didn't know you could be so kind without being kind." She once huffed and pouted at the needlework in her hands.

I was beginning to worry over Margaery, especially how she felt in regards to her husband. She felt that Robb saw herself almost as an afterthought and if it were not for the baby she was carrying, Robb would not even acknowledge her.

It was on one of such occasions that Margaery was venting that Robb walked in, requesting an audience with his wife for a moment. I thought about leaving them alone for a moment but then though better of it. I do not think Margaery is ready to face Robb on her own so close after opening up about their marriage problems.

"I was wondering if you would honour me with you company on a walk along the battlements this afternoon."

"Fine." Was Margaery's ineloquent reply as she prepared to stand up.

"I am afraid I have some previous engagements to take care of first. How about you meet me on the balcony overlooking the Training yard in half an hour?" Robb cut in making me raise an eyebrow.

Margaery accepts and after Robb had left she begins to panic. I reassure her that everything will be fine and even offer to be there the whole time if Margaery prefers it. We arrive at the balcony at the assigned time and amuse ourselves by watching the men train.

"He is late." I observe.

I flinch as I waits for the explosion of worry from Margaery but it never comes. I look at Margaery and seeing the tears pooling in her eyes turn to comfort her, but before I reach Margaery however, her eyes widen and she slams her hands over her mouth. That however does nothing to muffle the blood curling scream coming out of her mouth. Spinning on my heel I look frantically over the training yard for the cause of my friend's distress. Many of its occupants turned towards the balcony where we resided and then looked around trying to decipher the threat. It was then I saw somebody tumble down the stairs from one of the abandoned towers. The shock of dark auburn hair makes me gasp in realisation and then in horror as she registers the blood.

* * *

 **Robb**

We never managed to have that talk with Father as we all preferred. The King is just as needy as I remember him being and we are always interrupted before we get properly started. The little we have been able to plan was that we needed to catch the Lannister twins. How, was the question. It mostly consisted of me being appointed the task and it would help us in a trial that I was unarmed.

I walk up yet another tower, looking for those disgusting Lannister twins. I have been doing this for the past couple of days, or every time both of them are suspiciously missing. I have to say I am quite frustrated since this is proving to be quite fruitless. This castle is just too damn big, with way to many unused rooms, corridors or whole parts. Now I just have the top room to check and then it is to the training yard and take a walk with Margaery, I know I have been putting it off to apologize to her. Throwing the door open quite loudly to at least went some of my frustrations because it is not going to help me with Margaery, I was startled by a feminine scream. Looking up I was greeted by the sight of the blond queen scrambling to cover herself and an equally blond kingsguard grabbing his sword.

"That looked worse than I expected." I mumbled to myself just as the queen screamed at her brother;

"Jaime, he saw us! He cannot get away!"

"Oh, don't worry dear sister, this is a dangerous place. It is rather easy to hurt oneself seriously. Shame that it had to be the precious heir to the North." Jaime Lannister drawls with an almost sinister grin. He then lunged at me, clearly intending to gut me and throw me down the stairs but that is not in my plans. I sidestepped his attack and jumped through a hole in the wall that leads further down the staircase, a good three meter drop at least, but my life is more valuable than a broken foot.

The Kingslayer charged down the stairs in shabbily laced trousers and hastily put on boots, swinging his sword at my head. I ducked easily, letting the sword hit the wall. I kept stumbling backwards down the spiral staircase, ducking, sidestepping and in some cases, jumping, to avoid the Kingslayer's sword. But there comes a time where luck runs out and I knew my mine just had when my right foot fell through a wooden step.

"Looks like this is over pup," the Kingslayer gloated.

I just about managed to get my foot up before he smashed the pommel of his sword in my face, effectively breaking my nose. I have to say that falling down stairs is not something I am keen on doing ever again. I had bruises all over and I am quite sure I had at least two broken ribs if not a few fractured. At last I came to a stop in the aforementioned training yard. Not a desirable place for this confrontation but I suppose it serves as a kind of a buffer, now he cannot kill me. A high pitched scream brings me out of my haze of pain and the training yard suddenly becomes disturbingly quiet. Opening my eyes I see the Kingslayer strolling towards me, apparently unconcerned with our audience, that is, if he notices them at all.

"What is wrong pup? A bloody paw? Do you know what we do to injured animals?"

Standing above me, the Kingslayer lifts his sword and thrusts it at me. I quickly roll out of range and too my feet, watching the sword digging into the ground where I was moments before. I almost fell when I put all my weight on my right foot, the wounds throbbing and searing pain shooting up my leg. I was about to check on my leg when I saw a sword swinging my way. Barely ducking, I looked up into the Kingslayer's eyes and see that we are only beginning. He swings right, I duck left. He swung left, I ducked right. He swung at my feet, I jumped over, grimacing at the new shots of pain in my leg. The Kingslayer was getting frustrated, putting more force behind the swings than necessary but never missing his precise movements. I was looking for a way to end this quickly and then an opportunity presented itself. The Kingslayer swung at my head. Instead of rolling backwards, I surprised him by rolling forward and bringing my knee into his stomach, hard. With the wind knocked out of him I decided to pay him in kind and promptly pummelled my fist into his face, knocking him clean of his feet.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!?"

Came the thunderous voice of the King. Looking behind me I see the King, followed by Father and Jon, crossing the training yard. I breathe heavily through my mouth, trying to calm down enough to answer despite my broken nose. The sound of steel scraping against stone brings my attention back to the Kingslayer but instead of him lying on the ground, there was a sword swinging towards me. Taking a step out of range I realize too late that it was the wrong foot and before I knew it I was getting reacquainted with the earth.

"ROBB!"

I'd be damned if he got away with murdering me. Looking at the Kingslayer raising his sword in preparation to gut me I tried to roll over but a sharp pain in my upper chest prevents me from moving. Taking a quick look at my chest I groan at the bloody horizontal line from one shoulder to the other. I am saved when a dark shape jumps over me and grabs the Kingslayer's sword hand, using it to swing itself behind him where the shape kicks the Kingslayer, quite forcibly, in the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel. Using the Kingslayer's momentary distraction, the dark shape slipped his sword out of his hand and holds it at his throat.

"Arya! Stop at once!"

It was only then that I registered the dark shape as Arya. Arya held the sword tightly to the Kingslayer's throat, even drawing a sliver of blood. One movement on the Kingslayer's part and his head would come clean off.

"Valar morghulis!" The wolfish snarl coming out of Arya's mouth makes me wonder if anyone will be able to stop her from taking his head right there in the middle of the training yard.

"Valar dohaeris, Arya. He has not served his purpose." Sansa responded.

Arya was clearly not happy about it but concedes, this time. She removes the sword from the Kingslayer's neck but no sooner then he breathed a sigh of relief did Arya smash the pommel of the sword in the back of his head, knocking him out. Helping me sit up, Jon calls for three of his guards, two to take the Kingslayer to a cell in the dungeons and one to help him take me to the Maester. I am already dreading the ridiculously long journey there. You would think that the Maester's rooms would be where the most injuries occur, mainly the training yard, but no. The stubborn southern flower that is the Maester had to stay closest to the library. I distinctly hear the King arguing with Father but I cannot make out the words, the blood loss was clearly getting to me. Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of green and looking towards it I see the horrified face of my wife in the arms of Alys. My wife that I had finally found the courage to apologize to today. So much for that. The darkness is at the edge of my vision and I feel the energy leaving my body and before I know it, I am out.

* * *

 **\- Until next time!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Greetings Folks! Now this one is a bit short but I promise the next one will make up for it… you know, when I get him up.**

 **Love to my Beta, Gin no Kitsune, for simply being amazingly patient. Anyway,**

 **-Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Margaery**

Sitting at Robb's bedside was not something I envisioned myself doing while the Royal entourage was visiting. Not that I am complaining, it is a nice change from being constantly belittled by the Queen and all but groped by the King. Even though my life is not as I envisioned it here in the North, it is still much better than what could have been had I married close to court. I shuddered at the thought of sewing sessions with the Queen every afternoon.

Taking the wet cloth off of Robb's forehead and dipping it in cool water, I carefully wiped all the sweat off of his face before laying it against his forehead again. I could not help but to trace his handsome features with my finger. He looked so much younger while sleeping. Many years fell off of his face. I stroke his jaw, and noticed the beginnings of a beard appearing on his chin. In a few years, it would be quite impressive. Maybe he can be persuaded not to shave. He would truly look like the rough northerner then. I laughed silently at the thought of that image.

Robb stirred a bit, bringing me out of my thoughts. His eyes fluttered and he gave a painful groan as he shifted. I placed my hand on his shoulder to still him.

"Easy there Robb, we do not want you to open the stiches."

He tensed at my voice and a sting of disappointment stabbed at my heart. Of course he would not want me at his bedside. I held back the tears that were starting to gather in my eyes and put on a pleasant smile as he cautiously opened his eyes. He stared at me for a long moment and I made sure to never let my pleasant expression waver. When the silence became too thick with tension as was wont to do around us I distracted myself with chatter about his well-being.

"How are you feeling, husband?"

I pushed a lock of his hair back. His hair was really getting long.

"How is your throat? Do you want a cup of water? How silly of me, of course you do." I stood up with a bit of difficulty and walked over to the tray, pouring him a cup. I could feel his gaze on me the whole time.

"Your throat must be parched. You have been unconscious for two days. Gave us all quite the scare." I babbled on. I sat on the bed next to him and lifted the cup to his lips. It was a slow and careful work but it happened and Robb did not end up doused in ice cold water. His eyes still never wavered from me and it was starting to make me nervous. I brushed down my dress and prepared to leave.

"Well, you are awake. I must tell the-"

"I am sorry."

"Wha-what?" I stuttered.

"I am sorry."

"Oh, it is alright. We were all quite scared but-"I started, trying to brush it off.

"That is not it."

"Oh, well… Do not worry about our walk. We can have another walk when-" Robb cut me off again.

"No. I am sorry for the way I have treated you. I would like for us to start again. Give me chance to treat you right."

To say I was stunned would be the understatement of the century. My proud and stubborn husband was apologizing to me for how our marriage turned out. Of course, it is certainly his fault but for him to actually come out and admit it was surprising. I would have thought the Others would have come back before he even _thought_ about it.

"Say something, please."

His pleading voice brought me out of my thoughts. Focusing back on him, I was struck by how imposing he remained, even in bed. How can seem so strong with his chest, foot and head bandaged?

"Margaery?"

His hand gently touching mine sending me back into shock. He was actually touching me? Willingly, without an audience? I didn't know one touch could bring me such happiness. _Maybe there really still is hope_ , I think. I hesitantly smiled at him. _Maybe I can still get some semblance of a happy marriage._

* * *

The trial of Jaime and Cersei Lannister was shaping up to be a very interesting affair. Not only was it the most talked about event in the North but also because of the rather tricky task of finding acceptable judges that would neither judge in favour to the Starks because of loyalty nor in the favour of the Lannisters because of a promise of gold.

This was the biggest reason for the delayed trial and the cause for the Royal party's extended stay. Many lords of the North made a trip south to be present at the trial and even some southern lords came north. Luckily the Moat was a large structure. Even though everyone was cramped together in the habitable parts of the castle, no one had to brave the treacherous swamp or the northern wind by camping outside the walls. Housing these various lords became quite the juggling act.

With every lord having an issue with some other lord, some families having century old rivalries that with unknown roots, and various issues between northerners and southerners, Alys was going insane. I felt so bad about not doing anything. She jumped at the offers of help from Sansa and I; coming close to crying with relief. Alys was not the only one feeling the strain of the unexpected arrivals; Jon didn't look much better.

In the time that I've known him, I have learned that he is not a social person, so not only was the influx of people annoying him, but he also had to worry about food stores and construction in the Moat. At least Robb offered to do Jon's paperwork for him while on bedrest, allowing Robb to keep himself busy.

At least the upcoming trial of the Lannister twins was the perfect excuse not to have any celebrations or feasts that unnecessarily drain the food stores at a faster rate. I had to hand it to Jon and Alys, whatever northern tactics they were using were most certainly working. How the food stores had not emptied yet was just another thing completely beyond me. It came as a surprise to me when all the northern lords came with at least a barrel of wine or a great stag ready for cooking. When I asked Alys about it she said it was tradition:

"It is a way to apologize for arriving unexpectedly and without giving the host a proper chance to arrange proper chambers or arrange for food. It is usually practiced in winter when food is scarce, to avoid putting unnecessary strain on your host and accidently causing a rift between lords."

It was nice getting reacquainted with the northern lords. Talking to any of them, save the Boltons, was much more entertaining than conversation with any of the Reach lords. The most surprising guest, though, had to be Lady Stark, what with her well-known dislike for Jon. I noted that she did not bring anything with her, either intending it as a slight or simply due to ignorance of the northern custom. I cannot say anyone was particularly pleased with her arrival, least of all the Starks, which I found surprising. I thought Lord Stark would always be happy to see his wife, it was always obvious that he loved her.

It began to make sense during dinner, the night of Lady Stark's arrival.

"Don't you want to be a princess, Sansa? Perhaps one day a queen?" Lady Stark asked, once food had been served. "You could marry the prince! Your love would be written in songs and sung for centuries to come."

She seemed to be trying to sell the idea of marriage to the _Crown Prince_ to Sansa. I understood it to a degree. That was what my father wanted for me. Having one's daughter as queen gave one quite a lot of influence. I was actually shocked that she would say it in front of the Northern lords, even if they would not hear it over the lively noises of the hall.

It was really astounding how little understanding she had over the northern traditions, customs and politics, or even politics overall. She seemed rather set in her southern ways, much more than I would ever dare be.

"But… won't I have to go south then?" Sansa asked innocently. I had a feeling the ensuing conversation would be interesting. Under that picturesque innocence is a shrewd and calculating girl. It took me a while to spot it but she was using many of my own tactics. I wonder who taught her.

"Well, yes, but isn't that exciting? You would be surrounded by knights and ladies and attend all the tourneys. Your prince would crown you his queen of love and beauty!" Lady Stark said excitedly. I snorted into my glass of water. As if the _Crown Prince_ Joffrey could get past the first round in the jousting.

"But… Won't I die then?" Sansa asked unsurely. I honestly had no idea where this was going.

"No! Whatever gave you that preposterous idea?" Lady Stark asked, effectively bringing the attention of most of the rest of the occupants in the hall to their conversation.

"Well, Father said that Prince Rhaegar crowned Aunt Lyanna his queen of love and beauty and now she is dead." Sansa responded. Ah! That's when I realized where she was going with this. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Lady Stark looked aghast and then shot nasty glares at her husband, who looked pretty dumfounded himself.

"That is utter rubbish. All lies Sansa. Your aunt was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. But you will live in the Red Keep. Surrounded by loyal knights who would lay down their lives to protect you."

"You would send me south? All alone?" Sansa asked near tears. What skill! She had even perfected the art of crying at will.

"Not all alone, you would have a few guards of your own-" Lady Stark cooed.

"But I will die!" Sansa exclaimed and a lone tear escaped her left eye.

"Nonsense, why would you die in the south? Who filled your head with such nonsense?" Lady Stark asked. She tried to rub Sansa's back soothingly only to be shrugged off as Sansa stood up.

"Grandfather and Uncle Brandon went south and died! Aunt Lyanna went south and she died! Father says that nothing good ever happens when a Stark goes south of the Neck. You would send me to my death? Father won't you stop her? I thought you loved me. I won't go! I won't go! I hate you!" Sansa cried hysterically and ran out of the hall in tears, leaving its occupants stunned into silence.

Now I must commend her acting skills, because that was a show to remember. I saw Jon lean towards Robb on my other side and whisper, "Ouch". I had to swallow the giggles that threatened to erupt at that comment. I looked over to Alys, who while certainly confused, looked amused. I felt Robb lean forward to better see the occupants of the seats to my other side. On the other side of Alys sat Arya who was watching the lords and ladies in the hall.

"Arya."

The sound of his voice, though not loud, seemed to echo in the stifling silence but brought the desired effect of Arya's attention. Robb cast his eyes to the open doorway and back to Arya. She gave him a single nod before jumping over the table and following her sister's footsteps out into the castle.

* * *

"Where is Rickon?" Lord Stark asked when we arrived in Jon's solar. Alys busied herself with filling goblets with wine and water and passing it around the family.

"In Winterfell. He didn't want to leave. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell and all that." Lady Stark answered and took a sip of wine. There was a moment of silence while Lord Stark just stared at her face like she had grown a second head.

"You left him alone in Winterfell. To handle the duties of a lord _and_ lady of Winterfell? Catelyn, he is eight years old." I winced at the tone of his voice.

"Robb needed me!" She retorted petulantly and Robb cut in from my side.

"No, I did not. I have Father and I have Margaery. All you needed to do was to send a raven to inquire about my health and I would have been touched. Rickon needs you and now he is all alone in Winterfell, handling duties he has no training nor patience to handle."

"He is safe in Winterfell and he has Maester Luwin."

This time it was Arya that answered;

"Mother, Maester Luwin doesn't know what the lady's duties entail. And Winterfell is only as safe if the person in charge is capable."

Her unwillingness to see that she had erred astounded me. I had always thought of Lady Catelyn Stark as the epitome of the perfect lady, dutiful and supporting. Now she is almost a hindrance, acting like a child not wanting to be parted from her favourite toy, in this case, Robb. Lord Stark let out a long breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose while a look was passed between his children. Then Arya jumped to her feet and walked to the door.

"And just where do you think you are going, young lady?" Lady Stark's questioned, her voice cutting through the silence. Arya barely stopped as she answered in her curt, matter-of-fact, tone;

"Winterfell, to help my brother."

"But you have no experience in ruling." Lord Stark stated, with a hint of curiously.

"Neither does Rickon. I, at least, possess some semblance of patience." Arya responded, facing back towards her father.

"And I cannot afford to leave right now." Sansa cut in, as if that explained everything. She did not have any experience either to my knowledge, though I wouldn't put it past her.

Evidently it did explain everything to Lord Stark as he simply nodded and hugged his younger daughter tightly before sending her on her way. The Stark siblings seemed to have mastered nonverbal communication and it was just a tiny bit unnerving. Lady Stark just sat there, gobsmacked, as Arya went to prepare for her journey back to Winterfell.

"Are you just going to let her go?!" Lady Stark demanded, as she rose to her feet.

"Yes."

He barely looked at her as he sat back in his chair and his tone gave the clear message that the conversation was over. Lady Stark huffed as she sat back down, clearly debating whether to continue the argument. Instead she turned to Sansa and began to question her.

"And what is so important here that you have to stay?"

"Why, my future husband is here of course!" Sansa answered enthusiastically. Lady Stark brightened considerably at that.

"A knight has caught your fancy or is he a lord? Is he handsome? Oh is it prince Joffrey? He is quite handsome and to think, you would be queen!" She had clearly not learned from Sansa's earlier reaction to the same suggestion.

The mention of the Crown prince brought about an interesting reaction from the room's occupants. I wrinkled my nose as I remembered my, luckily few, encounters with the unpleasant boy. Because that was what he was, a boy, while Robb was a man. Looking at them side by side you would never think only a year separated them.

Alys was less discreet than I and openly scoffed in disgust. The smile on Sansa's face froze and she visibly shuddered; I would too if I was set to marry him. Jon spit out the wine he had just been drinking prompting a coughing fit while Robb's gentle grip on my hand turned crushing. I risked a glance at his face and flinched at the unrestrained fury burning in his eyes. Lord Stark's fist connecting with the table and ensuing furious snarl brought an involuntary whimper from my lips.

"No daughter of mine will ever spend any unnecessary time in the presence of that bastard born from incest unarmed and without a chaperone, guard _and_ a family member. And I will most certainly not leave another Stark at the hands of a mad man, legally or otherwise!"

* * *

 **And there you have, dear readers.**

 **-Until Next Time!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Greetings Folks! I'm alive. Thank you for staying with the story and I hope this chapter is worth the wait.**

 **\- Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Tyrion**

Walking down the steep slippery stairs to the dungeons was probably more dangerous than any trip to the Wall. How quickly everything went to hell for us Lannisters. One moment we were dining on golden plates and rotting in the dungeons the next. Well, Jaime and Cersei, not me.

It was damn cold down in the dungeons. After an unnecessarily long journey down hallway after hallway, I finally arrived at the cell holding my siblings. Jaime sat against the back wall shivering every now and then while Cersei paced the tiny space like a caged lioness.

"How can they share a cell?" I cannot help but ask the guard accompanying me. Is this some kind of a sick northern joke or merely a convenience?

"We wouldn't want them to freeze to death," came the gruff reply, and judging by the smirk on his face, it was a little bit of both.

"How considerate of you," I said sarcastically. I only got an amused grunt in reply. I rolled my eyes and put on my signature smirk.

"Brother, Sister! How wonderful to see you!" I said in an exaggeratingly cheery voice, causing both of their heads to snap towards me. A brief look of relief crosses Jaime's features while Cersei wastes no time making me prematurely deaf.

"You monster! This is all your fault! I bet you told the pup that specific tower didn't you! You are trying to kill me and my children! It won't work! I will get out of here and I will ruin you! You will wish that you died in birth along with my mother you wretched little man!"

"Be careful there sister. This wretched little man is the only thing keeping you alive at the moment," I warned her, carefully keeping my temper in check. Jaime got to his feet with clear stiffness and placed a hand on Cersei's arm.

"What do you mean, Tyrion?" He asked.

"Ned Stark managed to convince King Robert to step down from the judging panel on the premises that he is too close to the convict. Of course it backfired a bit and good old Ned got King Robert's place on the panel but it worked out quite well I think."

"How so?"

"Well, true to his honour, Stark appointed me as a second judge as I am as connected to this case as he is for your, oh so public murder attempt on his son _and_ heir." I gave a scathing look at Jaime who did not appear to be bothered.

"He has a spare." Jaime shrugged. "And a bastard." He added as an afterthought.

"That is not the point, Jaime. But the core of the matter is the third judge and Stark has been trying to find someone objective to balance the panel. Now as you know, that is rather hard in these parts as everyone is blindly loyal to the Starks."

"You mean, no one we can pay to look the other way. Don't you find his cooperation, even if a bit unknowing, a bit… convenient?" Jaime asked.

"Yes, I do. He is up to something…but not to worry! I will find out. His children will testify after all."

"Yes, I would like to find out where that little girl learned that trick," Jaime commented as he rubbed his neck.

"Yes it is a most… unusual form of fighting. And foreign, most especially in the North."

"Don't you two see the problem here? Whoever the third judge is is going to get us killed! He will most likely get Stannis Stoneface or seven forbid, a dornishman!" Cersei screeches.

"No he will not. He asked Randyll Tarly of all people, now we are just waiting for his response," I said dismissively.

Jaime and Cersei looked at me as if I had just sprouted wings and scales. I don't blame them. A more unyielding man is not found on earth, except Stannis Baratheon. Can you imagine a disagreement between the two of them? I shudder to think about such a horrifying event.

* * *

Randyll Tarly arrived two days later with his son who he claimed was joining the Nights Watch. By the looks of the boy I greatly doubt it was voluntary. Surprisingly the Lord of the Moat and the Tarly boy hit it off right off quickly and Lord Jon even offered the Tarly boy a place amongst his household instead of the Nights Watch. Tarly looked like he wasn't exactly happy about it but he didn't say anything.

Finally the day of the trial came about, and what a long day it had proven to be. Stark was surprisingly fair; every time I tried to steer the trial in a favourable direction for my siblings, which was almost impossible, he would agree and even pursue the leads and witnesses. It was almost too easy to lead him on a wild goose chase and I found myself wondering how the North was still standing if the Lord Paramount believed everything he heard.

When the time came to take a witness account from the Stark children things turned more interesting. Not because they had an inconsistent story but because they had a consistent one, too consistent. Either they are all brilliant liars or they cannot lie to save their lives and they know it so they do not even try. Either way things were taking a turn for the worse for the Lannisters.

* * *

"The court calls Lady Margaery Stark of Houses Tyrell and Stark to the stand."

The new Lady Stark walked confidently to the witness stand and took a seat gracefully. I immediately began the questioning.

"How is married life treating you Lady Stark?"

"Brilliantly, I dare say… well up until my husband's near murder that is. Though, that change is hardly for the worse." A coy smile lit her face.

"Oh? And how so?" I raised an eyebrow at that. How did young Stark feel about his wife airing their marriage bed to the court? Risking a glance over to said Heir I was faced with an indifferent Stark Ice mask. How young do they learn that, I wondered.

A light blush bloomed on her cheeks.

"Robb has always been very attentive to my needs. Even more so after we found out I was with child. With him on bed rest, I get to be the attentive one."

"And how is that working out for you?" I asked with a smirk.

"Well I dare say he isn't complaining." She answered with a smirk on her own, bringing a round of laughter and jeers from the northern lords.

"My Lady, where were you at the time of your husband's murder attempt?" Randyll Tarly cut in, apparently tired of our little chat.

"At a balcony, overlooking the training yard, My Lord." She answered promptly.

"Why?" Subtlety never was Tarly's strong suit.

"Robb had asked me to meet him there so that we could take a walk, just the two of us. With the royal party and all we hadn't had as much time for ourselves."

"Why meet him there? Why not just take your walk right when he asked you?" Randyll asked. Just what I was thinking.

"He said that he had business to finish beforehand."

"Did he say what this business entailed?" I could not keep all my intrigue out of my voice.

"No, he did not." Was the curt answer, much to my disappointment. I could always ask the pup about it himself.

"Thank you Margaery" Stark said and Lady Margaery stood and curtsied before joining her fellow Lady Starks in the audience stands.

* * *

As soon as the young Robb Stark took his seat the questioning started.

"What did your business entail?" Randyll Tarly was clearly just as impatient to know as I was. I watched the young Stark for any sign of deceit or nervousness but none were apparent.

"While I was here I wanted to help my brother, so I volunteered to inspect the broken towers and abandoned rooms to see which ones needed to be a priority and which ones could wait along with what needed to be done." The Stark heir answered evenly.

"I am told that you carry a sword with you in Winterfell where ever you go and I have seen the evidence of it here." I say casually while inspecting the pattern of my chair.

"Was there a question in there, Lord Tyrion?" The Stark heir asked with curiously controlled calmness. It didn't seem forced at all. I would have thought such a young and green man would be eager to prove himself and easy to anger.

"Is there any particular reason why you did not have your sword on that particular day?" I queried, studying his features carefully for any reaction. But the boy neither flinched nor hesitated and the only thing that I learned from my examination is that he has deceptively strong Stark features under that Tully colouring.

"I expected to be alone since the places I was going were supposed to be abandoned. My sword was in the way when I had to climb or anything and I did not want to lose it."

That is certainly a valid reason… and I cannot find anything else to keep him there any longer. I disappointedly waved my hand like was agreed upon and Lord Stark sent his son back to the audience stands.

* * *

"There is one witness absent, possibly one of the most important ones and therefore we cannot proceed."

This statement was met with an uproar from the northerners but inside I was dancing with glee. They really should not have sent the little she-wolf away.

"I will speak for my sister." Speak of the she-wolves.

"My lady, that is most unorthodox." I tried.

"I frankly do not care. My brother was almost murdered before my very eyes and I would like to see the culprit at least missing a hand," she said as she practically marched to the witness stands.

"Very well my lady. State your name before the court." I conceded. Damn those stubborn Starks.

"Lady Sansa of House Stark of Winterfell." By this point the northerners had, thankfully, settled down.

"Now, my Lady Sansa, what is so important that it drags your, rather vengeful, sister away from the trial of your brother's would be murderer?" _I am not going to make it easy for you_ , I thought. _I have had my fill of Starks for a lifetime_.

"The North," was her answer. The silence stretched almost uncomfortably while I waited for her to elaborate on her own but she just sat there calmly. I opened my mouth to ask her to elaborate but Tarly beat me to the punch.

"The North is more important than your brother's attacker?"

"Why, yes my Lord. You can hardly think the North runs itself, do you?"

"So the North is being run by an eleven year old girl?" I asked, amused.

"An eleven year old girl and an eight year old boy. A Stark's first duty is to its people. That is why there must always be a Stark in Winterfell," Lady Sansa answered promptly.

"Yes, but now there is two." I point out.

"Mother left the lady's duties on the shoulders on an untrained eight year old. Arya simply left to support Rickon." Of course there is an answer to that. What are they, greenseers? They must have practised this or something. I was getting quite frustrated. Maybe it is time to play the crowd.

"And are the northern lords happy with being led by an eight year old green boy and an eleven year old wildling girl?" I raised my voice slightly to make sure I was heard. I never broke eye contact with Lady Sansa and even let a slight smirk play on my lips. She simply raised an eyebrow which confused me until I hear a shout;

"They are both Starks and that is good enough for me!"

My eyes snap to the owner of the voice. A giant of a man with a fierce expression on his face. His declaration was followed by many similar shouts as the rest of the Northerners jumped to their feet declaring their undying loyalty to the Starks. My eyes snapped back to Lady Sansa's, seeing the twinkle with mischief and a smug smirk playing on her own lips.

"You got me there she-wolf, you got me there." I muttered to myself as I wondered, not for the first time, if the Starks are pulling wool over our eyes. Next to me Lord Stark stood up to calm his fellow lords.

"Thank you, my Lords, for your show of loyalty but I am afraid that I will have to call for order for this trial to continue." And just like that they all sat down. Unbelievable. Tarly was not much for delays as he continued;

"Reports say that you and your sister were in the training yard at the time of the attack."

"Yes we were."

"Why." _Isn't the man charming_? I can't help but think at his tactless tactics.

"We were watching the southern knights practising."

"I imagine you were enthralled by their grace." I cannot help but shoot at her, waiting for the blush.

"Oh, not at all," she laughed. "Arya was having a running commentary on what they were doing wrong. Let's just say that she hadn't stopped talking for half an hour and leave it at that," she finished giggling and bringing laughter and jeering from the northerners. It was getting quite annoying.

"Lady Sansa, after your sister quite impressively apprehended Ser Jaime, to which we will come back to later, you two had quite the interesting discussion, mainly Valar Morghulis and Valar Dohaeris. Care to inform the court of the meaning and origins of those words?" _Let's see how you wiggle yourself out of that one._

"Well of course. Valar Morghulis and Valar Dohaeris is a common greeting across the Narrow Sea. The language is High Valyrian though there is not much else I can say in that language," she finished a little sheepishly.

"And the meaning, Lady Sansa." I prompted. I am not letting her get the easy way out. Looking me straight in the eye she answers;

"All men must die and all men must serve." The way she said it gave me a little chill.

"Any particular reason those words were exchanged?"

"Because they are true." Our staring contest resumed and I have to admit I am impressed with her resolve. When it becomes clear she is not going to elaborate any further I move on, surprised that Tarly hasn't already.

"Who trained your sister?"

A wicked smile spreads across her face.

"No one."

"With moves like that I highly doubt it" I challenge with a raised eyebrow.

"But it is true. No one trained my sister."

I am positive that I heard a scoff coming from Lord Stark.

"Stop playing games my lady and answer the question. Who. Trained. Your. Sister."

"I am telling you! NO ONE DID!"

That wicked smile never left her lips but before I could pressure her more Lord Stark butted in.

"Thank you Sansa, you may go."

I did not miss the ghost of a smile on Lord Starks face. What am I missing?

* * *

"The court calls Lady Cersei Baratheon of Houses Lannister and Baratheon to the witness stand."

Now the real show begins. If this does not go as it needs to, everything else has been for nothing. I watch my sister stride haughtily to the witness stand, seemingly heedless of the two guards following her.

"Is Jaime Lannister the father of your children?" I think Tarly missed some etiquette lessons as a child. I discreetly shook my head at her, begging her to deny the claims and give us at least a snowballs chance in hell to see this through.

"Of course he is. Like I would carry the spawn of that whoring drunkard," she sneered, leaving my prayers unanswered. On the upside, she left Tarly speechless.

"And the death of Jon Arryn?" Lord Stark asks. My head whips around and I stare at him incredulously. Now he starts his questioning?

"He was always so noise. Always sticking his nose where it didn't belong. But someone else got to him before I could," she said haughtily and I sunk just a little in my chair, trying to hide from the world because Stark was not through with his questioning.

"Rumour has it Stannis Baratheon fled the capitol. Did he also know about your illegitimate children?"

"I suppose, maybe I should have slipped _him_ some poison." I placed my head in my hands. Why does her pride and temper always get in the way? At the rate she is going, she is going to have us all hung by supper.

"That's it you traitorous whore! I will have your head! Yours and your brats and your backstabbing brother!" King Robert thundered in with what must be the same murderous rage that killed the dragon prince.

"No you won't you son of a bitch! I demand a trial by combat!" Cersei screeched right back and the court room descended into chaos. Cersei and the king were screaming at each other the northerners demanded justice. People of the royal party were throwing insults at the northerners. The riverlords got caught in the middle. It was madness and it looked to be descending into a melee. A frightening howl pierced the madness and everything stopped.

"Thank you, Grey Wind. Now if everybody would please return to their seats while we deliberate." Lord Stark said in a tone that brokered no argument.

"What is there to deliberate Lord Stark? She demanded a trial by combat." Tarly said.

"The children. They have done nothing and do not deserve to die for the sins of their parents."

"Put them with their next of kin." Tarly said, clearly finished with this discussion.

"Tywin Lannister?" Lord Stark asked.

"I agree with Lord Stark, Lord Tarly. I will take responsibility for my nephews and niece." I say shuddering to think what monstrosities the Lion of the Rock would do to them once this becomes public knowledge. Though on second thought, Joffrey may deserve it.

"Very well." Lord Stark said before standing up, effectively turning the room's attention to himself. "Lady Cersei of House Lannister has demanded a trial by combat, who will be your champion?" he directed the last part to Cersei.

"Ser Jaime Lannister."

"And will you also demand a trial by combat yourself, Ser Lannister?" Lord Stark asked Jaime, who had been between two guards against the wall for the entire trial.

"Aye." Jaime answered arrogantly.

"Then both of you will die if you fail, and both of you will walk free if you emerge victorious. Who will be the champion of the gods?"

There was some hesitation, after all despite his crimes, Jaime was still the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. There seemed to be a fierce but hushed discussion amongst the Starks that drew many eyes to them. The Lady of the Moat was not happy and she held onto the bastard Stark like her life depended on it. On the other hand Lady Sansa seemed to be furiously ranting away at the heir to the North who seem none to inclined to take it laying down. It looked like his southern rose was begging him for something, the way she hung on his arm with tears in her eyes. The current Lady Stark said something only for the three Starks to simultaneously turn and snap at her before resuming their argument. They seemed to have come to a conclusion as the Lord of the Moat stood up.

"I will be the champion of the gods."

"Then let the will of the gods take place at noon tomorrow." Lord Stark concluded and dismissed court.

* * *

Watching Jaime walk into the training yard in grey full plated armour and a sword in hand lifted a weight off of my chest. Both because there is still some value to the Stark honour and that my brother does still have some sense even though he chooses not to use it most of the time. My Father always said that the Stark honour is going to kill them someday and it seems that today they are going to be a member short. I cast my eyes over to Jon's light leather and chainmail as he rolled his sword in his hand. Stark began the combat and Jaime and Jon began to circle one another. Then Lady Sansa called out to her brother;

"Jon, just remember Arya's advice!"

At that a faint smile appeared on Jon's face and Jaime laughed tauntingly.

"And what advice did the wayward She-wolf give?"

"To stick you with the pointy end."

No sooner than the words left his mouth did he lunge forward and do just that. His sword went to Jaime's side and came back with blood. It must have simply graced him because Jaime showed no indication at having felt it besides shock. The crowd gave a loud cheer but it quickly died down as they began circling each other again. Surprisingly it was Jon who initiated the taunting this time.

"Do you want to know what Rickon said?"

"And what does baby pup have to say?"

"To drink your blood."

And then they clashed. Jaime swung his sword in a very fast paced pattern but Jon blocked him at every turn and even landing a few hits, though none with his sword but it was evidently infuriating Jaime. He was stooping to dirty tricks that somehow Jon still blocked. After a while they went back to circling each other, both a bit out of breath but Jaime was almost spitting fire while Jon had a more relaxed version of the Stark Ice mask in place. I must say I am impressed that he managed to survive this long, let alone hold his own, though it does not bode well for us. Shifting uncomfortably in my seat and casting my eyes over the audience. It seems Jon's wife missed a few lessons in the art of the Ice mask, her worry is written clearly all over her face. My attention was brought back to the combat when Jaime all but spat;

"Is that all you got _bastard_!"

"You don't grow up a bastard without learning some tricks."

He had the gall to smirk. Again Jaime charged, a little sloppier, but deadly nonetheless, and again Jon met him in every strike. I had to hand it to the boy, he can fight. Then suddenly just as it seemed Jaime was going to overpower Jon, Jon fell backwards and rolled out of the way to swing his sword upwards at Jaime, who had stumbled when Jon stopped supporting him.

The scream of pain will forever be edged in my memory and the scene would probably inspire some nightmares on its own. Jaime was on his knees staring at his hands, or rather hand. His right hand laid in front of him still wrapped around his sword and the stump of his right arm was bleeding profusely. Many shocked gasps and shrieks of disgust were heard from the audience, but the show was not over yet. Jon appeared before my brother, as if out of thin air, with a goblet in hand. He took a hold of Jaime's stump and guided it over the goblet. I watched transfixed at the blood flowing into the goblet, helpless to do anything to help my brother. Then Jon took a few steps back, never breaking eye contact with Jaime, and took a sip from the goblet. Talk about drinking the blood of your enemies.

"Not bad, shame you Lannisters don't bleed gold."

Again, he had the gall to smirk. I watched with dread as blinding rage overcame Jaime's features and with an enraged cry he grabbed his sword in his left hand and began swinging it madly at Jon, reminding me disturbingly of Joffrey. It was in that moment, when Jon simply sidestepped or bent his back a little to avoid Jaime's wild swings, all the while drinking from the goblet that I knew I was wrong. The Starks are not going to be a member short today. The Lannisters are, according to how the past few weeks have gone, a good six members short. It was then that Jaime got tired of not hitting his target and made a fatal mistake.

"You think this will impress your whore of a wife?"

Jon abruptly stopped, the smirk falling of his face and the steely Ice mask was back. He tilted his hand and let the rest of the blood in the cub drip to the ground before he threw the goblet away. One well aimed kick later, Jaime was back on his knees, this time with a snarling direwolf in his face. Well, not literally… this time.

"Insult me all you want. Taunt me, disgrace me, mock me all you want. But never, ever, even dare _utter_ a word about my wife!"

With that Jaime lost his head.

* * *

"You scum! My father will rain hell upon you barbarians!" Cersei screamed at the top of her lungs. The proud lioness was brought to her knees and all dignity seemed to have left her. The guards brought my still ranting sister to the chopping block in the middle of the training yard where not ten minutes earlier my brother's body laid. I fully expected good ol' Ned Stark to do the honours but when I saw Robb Stark limp out towards his father with his cane and take Ice from the scabbard I was shocked. Beheading a man was no easy picking. How could Stark even think about possibly letting the boy humiliate himself like this. Robb's wife stood a little ways of to the side, joined by Lord Stark, nervously wringing her hands and touching her visibly pregnant stomach.

Robb stood over Cersei, both hands on Ice, the sword safely pointing down.

"Do you have any last words?"

"You will all burn in hell, you heathens!" Cersei screeched. Robb did not seem surprised.

"Very well, In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Robb of the House Stark, heir of Winterfell, sentence you to die."

He lifted the great sword and just as he was about to bring it down on Cersei's neck a high-pitched shout halted all movement. Joffrey ran towards Robb, his own sword high aloft placed to strike the heir of the North. Robb didn't move until the last possible moment and then blocked the strike, disarmed Joffrey and delivered an elbow to the blonde's face, bringing Joffrey to an awfully similar situation to Jaime not half an hour ago.

Joffrey lay on the ground whimpering pitifully and holding his broken nose with Robb staring stoically at him. Lord Stark moved to his son's side and started whispering something in his ear. Robb nodded and turned back towards Cersei, repeating the sentence. Again Robb raised the great sword over his head, then Joffrey decided to doom us all. He stood up and ran towards the Lady Margaery, who stood alone now that Lord Stark had moved over to his son, and pushed her to the ground. Hearing his wife's startled scream, Robb spun around and whistled.

"Since you will take my mother, I will take your child!" Joffrey screeched at Robb and drew a knife from his boot.

That was evidently the wrong thing to say as Robb's face twisted into a snarl, and if I had been closer I no doubt would have heard him growl, before the ice mask, that we seem to be seeing quite often here, fell into place. I've always found that mask disturbing. It is impossible to read and therefore makes the Starks unpredictable. And the most dangerous people are the ones that are both honourable and unpredictable.

When Joffrey turned back to strike Lady Margaery his hand was nearly bitten off by a big grey direwolf. Joffrey shrieked and backed away and that was when Robb took five large steps like he hadn't been hurt at all. Joffrey turned as if to run away from the wolf. Robb swung Ice in and upwards motion at Joffrey, who was practically running himself through, and separated his right hand from the arm, the knife still in it. Robb did not stop there and quickly twirled a whole circle to get the most swing on the great sword and beheaded the still standing former crown prince as easily as one would cut through butter. That was clearly the end to the Stark's patience because he swiftly strode over to a wailing Cersei and took her head as well.

* * *

 **\- Until next time!**


End file.
